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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214250">please don't leave me here (I don't know where my heart is)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blake0tyler/pseuds/blake0tyler'>blake0tyler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Women's Soccer RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Orlando trade, a full writer's range lol, angst to fluff to smut?, seriously I hope this doesn't suck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:20:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214250</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blake0tyler/pseuds/blake0tyler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And then, to make things worse, Kelley has to go ahead and say, “Wait, you didn’t know?”, like Lindsey is the only one who hasn’t heard, the only one who is only just finding out, the only one who hasn’t been told that Emily—</p>
<p>Emily, who hasn’t even called, hasn’t even texted. </p>
<p>Even though Lindsey is her best friend. Even though there was France and those weeks in August and—</p>
<p>//</p>
<p>[ the angsty Orlando trade fic that no one asked for ]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>305</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. were you scared of getting closer?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: </p>
<p>Welcome to the Soran multi-chapter fic that I really should not be writing. It’s going to be a wild ride, my friends. For now, I’m setting the chapter count at 5, but since I always tend to write more than I anticipate, we’ll see how that goes lol. This fic is inspired by my intense attraction to Lindsey Horan lately. Why did she have to go ahead and get a puppy—the cuteness is fucking killing me. </p>
<p>Fic and chapter title from “please” by Chelsea Cutler and Jeremy Zucker. Might make a playlist for this fic at some point.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She finds out from Kelley.</p>
<p>Of all people, she has to find out from <em>Kelley</em>.</p>
<p>And then, to make things worse, Kelley has to go ahead and say, “Wait, you didn’t know?”, like Lindsey is the <em>only one </em>who hasn’t heard, the <em>only one </em>who is only just finding out, the <em>only one </em>who hasn’t been told that Emily—</p>
<p>Emily, who hasn’t even called, hasn’t even texted. Even though Lindsey is her best friend. Even though there was France and those weeks in August and—</p>
<p>She slams her knuckles so hard against Emily’s hotel room door that the skin splits open, but Lindsey barely feels it, can’t feel anything beyond the shock and the anger. She’s got tears in her eyes and if Emily doesn’t open the door <em>right now</em>, she’s going to—</p>
<p>Emily looks like she was about to head to bed, standing in the door opening in soft grey sweatpants and her favorite black hoodie, and Lindsey bites out, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”</p>
<p>Emily’s eyes go wide. “Linds—”</p>
<p>Her breath catches in her throat, and then, it’s all over her face. The realization that Lindsey has found out. That someone has told her. That, right now—in the middle of January camp, when they should only be worrying about double trainings and how clean they’re eating and getting a good night’s sleep—Emily is being traded to Orlando and Lindsey is crying.</p>
<p>She shoves Emily hard. “What the <em>fuck</em>, Sonny. <em>What the fuck—</em>”</p>
<p>“Jesus,” Emily snaps, rubbing her shoulder. “Don’t hit me.”</p>
<p>“You told Kelley but you didn’t tell me?” It makes her voice break. “I’m your best friend and you didn’t even—” She chokes on the words. “You told Kelley first?”</p>
<p>Emily’s expression is so hurt and so confused, and Lindsey doesn’t know why <em>this </em>matters over everything else. Why she needs to make a scene about it. Why it should make a difference who found out first, who Emily decided to speak to first. But it does, it <em>does</em>, because Lindsey is Emily’s best friend and she’s leaving her, they won’t ever play for the same club again, and—</p>
<p>“Were you just never going to tell me?” she bites out. “Were you just going to <em>leave</em>?”</p>
<p>“Linds—” Emily’s voice is hoarse. “Lindsey, it’s not like that. It’s just, with the announcement, when Mark called me—”</p>
<p>And Lindsey can’t <em>hear </em>it, can’t actually acknowledge the news itself, because she’s not ready. She’s not ready to talk about it, to hug Emily close, to talk about goodbyes.</p>
<p>She wants to fight.</p>
<p>She wants to fight, because that’s all she can handle right now.</p>
<p>“I can’t believe I had to find out from Kelley.” She’s crying, and it’s not about Kelley, not really, and Emily is looking at her like maybe she knows. “I can’t believe everyone knew but me.”</p>
<p>Lindsey’s voice cracks again, and she tries to shove Emily, but ends up with her hands fisted into the front of Emily’s hoodie, silently begging Emily to fight back.</p>
<p>To—</p>
<p>To argue it out, before they talk about what’s really going on. So Lindsey can be angry rather than be hurt, can be angry rather than in—</p>
<p>(And, of course, that is the real issue.</p>
<p>Of course this is what they’ve been avoiding all this time; France and August, how Lindsey got back together with Russell in the offseason, how Emily has been distracting herself with Tinder. How for months, it’s been easy enough to effectively ignore the whole fucking mess of <em>that</em>, but now, it’s right here, right under the surface, and it’s cutting through all of Lindsey’s self-protective mechanisms, trying to break her—</p>
<p>So <em>damn it, </em>she’ll be angry right now, and that’s all she’ll feel, or she’s going to collapse.)</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Emily says. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She is biting on her lip, like she does when she’s stressed out, and Lindsey can see the way she’s trembling slightly, all tension and stiff muscles. “Really, Linds, I know I fucked it up, and I <em>was</em> going to tell you, but I—I couldn’t. It felt like—like, if I’d tell you, I would really—”</p>
<p>Her voice breaks and she takes a step back, away and out of Lindsey’s space, embarrassed and pained and—</p>
<p>“I’m so mad at you,” Lindsey chokes out, and then she can’t speak anymore because she’s crying too much, even though there’s more she wants to say.</p>
<p>She wants to say: <em>I fucking hate this</em></p>
<p>She wants to say: <em>I hate that you’re leaving me.</em></p>
<p>She wants to say: <em>I don’t want to play soccer if it’s not with you</em>, and she knows that’s not true, but it feels true, and that’s just as bad.</p>
<p>“I told Kelley because…” Emily rubs furiously at her eyes. “Because I was having a panic attack and because—because the worst part about leaving Portland, about leaving the Thorns, the worst part about leaving is that I have to leave—”</p>
<p>Lindsey shoves Emily so hard that the word <em>you </em>gets lost somewhere in the space between them, and then she’s pulling her in.</p>
<p>She’s pulling her in, rough and angry, until they’re hugging and Lindsey’s temper collapses. Just like that.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Somehow, after, they don’t actually talk.</p>
<p>There’s a weird kind of stiffness in the way they untangle themselves from one another, the way Emily won’t meet her eyes but steps aside so that Lindsey can finally enter the room properly. They’ve had this before. They’ve had other emotional explosions that neither of them were able to deal with after. Mostly because Lindsey can’t really express herself very well when she’s overwhelmed and mostly because Emily gets embarrassed about being vulnerable.</p>
<p>So, they deal with it the best they can.</p>
<p>They watch tv on Emily’s bed and they don’t talk—but Lindsey’s foot is pressed against Emily’s calf and she’s abandoned her phone, won’t speak to anyone, won’t speak to Russell, wants to stay in this hotel room with Emily forever, ignoring Orlando until it doesn’t exist anymore.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, though. “Fuck, Sonny, I’m sorry I went off like that.”</p>
<p>Emily’s cheeks are a bit red. “It’s fine. I deserved it.”</p>
<p>Lindsey frowns. “No,” she says. “You don’t deserve any of it.”</p>
<p>It’s the closest she comes to addressing it directly; to acknowledging that Emily got fucked over by the club that they both love with their entire hearts, the club that’s only Lindsey’s now. How they won’t ever get to share any of it again.</p>
<p>Emily swallows hard, says, “It’s a new chance. There are players I can learn from, and—”</p>
<p>“Shut up,” Lindsey snaps, a hint of her harshness from earlier back in an instant. “I don’t want to hear it.”  </p>
<p>She’s being selfish.</p>
<p>She knows that.</p>
<p>Because maybe Emily needs to say this, maybe she needs to tell herself out loud that it’s an opportunity and not a disappointment, needs to tell herself all the good things she can have next season, in order to actually believe it, but Lindsey—</p>
<p>Lindsey is selfish and hurt and not ready.</p>
<p>She pushes her foot harder against Emily’s leg. Her throat feels closed off when she says, “Can I stay here? Can we—”</p>
<p>France flashes through her mind. The hotel room bathroom, how they’d been dizzy on champagne, both of them. How they’d sat in the bathtub in their victory jerseys without any water in it, just passing the bottle back and forth. How easy it is to kiss your best friend when you’re drunk and you’ve just won a world cup. How easy it is to ask for what you want when you’re confident you’ll get it.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Emily says. “Yeah, of course you can stay. You’re—” And here it is. “Linds, you’re my best friend. It’s not gonna—you know that, right?”</p>
<p>Lindsey shuts her eyes, can’t look at Emily through any of this.</p>
<p>They fall asleep with the tv still on and a lot of space between them on the bed, and Lindsey thinks that Emily might say that nothing’s going to change, but it still feels like the beginning of the end.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>They make it through camp.</p>
<p>For the most part, Lindsey manages to distract herself sufficiently. Emily seems to be using the same coping mechanism. They work their asses off in drills, sweat it out in the gym, and mess around with their friends during team meetings. They keep their eyes on what’s next, always on what’s next—which, in this case, is qualifying, something Lindsey’s been looking forward to since the end of the NWSL season.</p>
<p>To prove herself. To find her rhythm again. Shake off those last disastrous games of the season and feel like she’s good enough to go to Tokyo. She’d talked about it with Sonny—the need to push themselves harder, to show that they <em>can </em>do it, that both of them deserve to make the roster.</p>
<p>Except, at that point they were both still playing for Portland, and now—</p>
<p>Now, Emily is avoiding her.</p>
<p>It’s not immediately noticeable. They’re still around the same people all the time. They both hang out with Sam and Rose like always. They end up sitting next to each other at breakfast and pretend like nothing’s wrong.</p>
<p>But there’s a subtle sort of distance—a slight increase in the amount of time Emily seems to be spending with Kelley, the way Lindsey feels like hanging out with Tobin after long training days, rather than with other people.</p>
<p>She can feel the space between them like something tangible, even when they’re on the same field, even when they’re in the same room.</p>
<p>Emily refuses to meet her eyes and Lindsey feels too guilty about their fight to try and get any closer.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>It’s during one of their early morning trainings that Emily goes down.</p>
<p>Hard.</p>
<p>They’re at the end of a scrimmage and Christen has been too fast, too <em>good</em>, for the entire time, all quick footwork and landing the ball in the back of the net, and Lindsey can see Emily getting frustrated with it, can see her starting to beat herself up about not defending well enough. Any other time, and Lindsey would have run over, would have knocked her shoulder against Emily’s, telling her that she’s doing great, that she’s got this.</p>
<p>But they’re not—</p>
<p>They’re not really speaking right now and Lindsey feels her chest go tight as she tries to ignore it; the crease of anger between Emily’s eyebrows, the way her muscles are tense, the way she pushes herself to go harder and harder and <em>harder—</em></p>
<p>The tackle is way too aggressive.</p>
<p>Lindsey can hear the collective gasp, can hear Vlatko shouting at Emily to take it down a notch, that this is <em>practice</em>.</p>
<p>But then—</p>
<p>She’s not getting up.</p>
<p>Christen’s rolled over and has gotten back to her feet almost instantly, but Sonny stays down, and just like that, Lindsey feels her whole body go into panic. People are already running over; staff and teammates, gathering around. Rose is kneeling down, blocking Lindsey’s line of sight.</p>
<p>She takes a step, takes another. Her heart is racing in her throat and she tells herself <em>it’s fine it’s fine don’t worry she’s going to be fine</em>. This is just a thing that happens. It’s going to be fine. Emily’s got Rose. She doesn’t need Lindsey to—</p>
<p>But then Kelley is pushing past her and Lindsey feels like the worst person in the entire world.</p>
<p>Anxiety claws at her heart. She’s shaking, feeling nothing but pressure on her chest—</p>
<p>(And suddenly, impossibly, all Lindsey can think about is France, about the kiss, all the blurry details of it. Sonny’s hand on the back of Lindsey’s neck, the way she’d made Lindsey laugh by losing her balance as she tried to climb forward in the bathtub, drunk, with her socks slipping on the smooth surface. Right before sinking down into Lindsey’s lap and shutting her up with a kiss so good that it made her whole body—</p>
<p>How messy the rest of the season had been, how messy things with Russell had been, how Lindsey had thought there’d still be time at some point to figure it out, to both get a little bit better at communicating, to maybe have something, <em>something </em>that would be—</p>
<p>But Emily is moving to Florida and she’s leaving Lindsey behind, and she went way too hard on that tackle, and now she’s not getting up, she’s not fucking getting—)</p>
<p>Kelley drags Emily back to her feet and she’s wincing, but she’s standing.</p>
<p>Lindsey’s exhale is harsh, the tension relief more painful than nice.</p>
<p>She hurries forward, her muscles finally catching up with her mind, walks, runs—</p>
<p>Emily is already taking a few trying steps, already rolling her foot to shake it off, Kelley’s arm slipping from her waist now that she can support her own weight again. There’s a ringing in Lindsey’s ears, but she still catches parts of what people are saying, can hear Rose trying to crack a joke, can hear Vlatko saying, “She’s fine. Everything’s fine. Take five and then we continue.”</p>
<p>She’s got her hand on Emily’s elbow right before they reach the bench. “Sonny.”</p>
<p>Emily spins, meets her eyes, and just like that, something cuts right through Lindsey’s body. It’s all over Emily’s face—the hurt and the embarrassment, and still the <em>fire, </em>the need to prove it to someone, even if it’s just to herself.</p>
<p>Lindsey’s chest aches at the sight.</p>
<p>She’s already talking before her mind can properly hold her back. “Hey, hey…” She rubs her thumb into Emily’s shoulder, massages the muscle. “You’re fine,” she whispers, just for them to hear. “You’re good. I got you. I’m here.”</p>
<p>Emily’s got her eyes on her cleats, tenses under Lindsey’s touch at first, and then slumps into it. Her bottom lip is trembling. “I hate this,” she mumbles and it’s low enough that only Lindsey can catch it. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it…”</p>
<p>Lindsey steps closer. “I know,” she says. “I know, babe.”</p>
<p>And <em>fuck—</em></p>
<p>She’s not supposed to say that.</p>
<p>She’s not supposed to—</p>
<p>Even when she would have said it before, when they were just friends, when France hadn’t happened yet, when August hadn’t happened, when everything between them had been easy and <em>good </em>and—</p>
<p>It feels different now.</p>
<p>Emily’s eyes widen.</p>
<p>“Just focus on today,” Lindsey rushes out, trying to talk over it, trying to talk past her blush. “It’s camp, Son. We’re all here to do our best. We’ve all got things we want to achieve, so let’s just… Let’s focus on our time here and then—we’ll see, yeah? Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it later.”</p>
<p>Emily studies her, almost like she’s trying to figure out if there’s anything else to Lindsey’s words, and with a shock, Lindsey realizes that maybe, in a way, it could sound like she means—</p>
<p>Like, she’s implying that—</p>
<p>“Fine,” Emily says. The corner of her mouth curls up. “Guess I’ll save those tackles for qualifying.”</p>
<p>Lindsey smacks her arm. “You will not. You’ll play clean.”</p>
<p>Emily just smirks at her.</p>
<p>Lindsey licks at her lip, feeling a little bit hot suddenly. She takes a breath, laughs, and looks away. She kicks her cleat against Emily’s shin guard. “Just don’t be stupid like that anymore.”</p>
<p>Emily arches her eyebrow. “I’ll try.”</p>
<p>And all of a sudden, it feels like last season. It feels like the Thorns vs. Royals game, when Sonny had gotten the red and Lindsey had shoved Amy to the ground for it. When they’d been on the bus together and Lindsey hadn’t said anything, both of them knowing they’d been acting dumb, and trying not to acknowledge the fact that they’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Emily’s pinkie brushing against Lindsey’s the whole time.</p>
<p>She turns around quickly, signaling Tobin to pass her a ball, anything for some distraction. But for the first time in a few days, something feels vaguely normal.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>(They make it through camp. The one thing Lindsey isn’t prepared for is the way Emily looks, playing soccer with the sun setting behind her. It knocks all the air out of Lindsey’s lungs and she feels a wave of confusing attraction going through her; the way the light glows on Emily’s skin, the way it makes her eyes bright and gorgeous, the way her body becomes a silhouette against the fading light, so strong and fast and powerful. She can’t take her eyes away for even a second—and it’s going to be more of a problem than she realizes.)</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Russell picks her up from the airport.</p>
<p>They haven’t even made it to the car when the argument starts. There’s no real reason for it. Just something about going out for dinner, and Lindsey is only half listening, is still thinking about how Emily hadn’t said goodbye properly—just a quick wave and some kind of “flight leaving early” excuse—and she knows she should be happy to be home, should be happy to see him, but she’s exhausted and upset, and Russell is just going on and on about what he’s got planned for the coming days, and she snaps.</p>
<p>Just like that, she snaps, and then, before she knows it, they’re out of the car and at Lindsey’s place, and actually fighting.</p>
<p>“—haven’t seen you in, like, two weeks, Lindsey!” Russell rubs his eyebrows. “And you barely even talk to me when you’re at camp.”</p>
<p>“They’ve got protocols!” she cuts out. “I can’t just be on the phone with you all the damn time.”</p>
<p>And it’s true, they <em>do </em>have protocols, but also not really. No one makes a big deal out of the fact that Ash and Ali are at camp together—or Tobin and Christen, for that matter. She knows Sam’s on the phone with her husband a lot, that Mal speaks to Dansby on FaceTime pretty much every single day.</p>
<p>It’s just that—</p>
<p>“All I’m asking for is a nice dinner,” Russell snaps. “One nice dinner, Lindsey. Can’t you give me that?”</p>
<p>“<em>Give </em>you that—” She can feel her temper rising, for no reason at all really. Just the fact that she’s exhausted and worn out, and that her best friend, her best friend in the whole damn world will be— “I just want to fucking sleep! How many times do I need to tell you that I don’t want to go out the first day when I’m back from camp.”</p>
<p>Russell scoffs. “I hardly ever see you.”</p>
<p>Lindsey bites out, “Yeah, thank God.”</p>
<p>And then, everything explodes.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>It’s one of the worst fights they have ever had—and they’ve had a few, having gone through the whole breaking up then getting back together spiel a few times already.</p>
<p>Still, this feels different.</p>
<p>Lindsey can feel her throat closing off more and more with every word she shouts, can feel her anger growing exponentially the longer they keep going back and forth. About Lindsey’s lack of time, about Russell’s clinginess, about how Lindsey never makes enough of an effort, about how Russell <em>can’t think past his fucking egotistical self for</em> <em>even one second—</em></p>
<p>“God, Lindsey,” Russell snaps. “Ever since August—”</p>
<p>And that really does it.</p>
<p>It cuts hard into Lindsey’s chest.</p>
<p>“What about August?” Her voice is trembling. “<em>What</em>, Russell?”</p>
<p>He stares at her, his eyes narrowed, and she knows he’s going to say it, knows he’s going to cross the line and mention—</p>
<p>“Ever since you spent August with Sonnett—”</p>
<p>Lindsey snaps.</p>
<p>“You broke up with me!” There are tears in her eyes now, hot and heavy. “You treated me like a trophy. Showing me off to all your stupid friends, parading me around like a fucking—like a—” Her voice catches and her breath is coming out ragged. “And then you broke up with me, out of nowhere, just because I wasn’t willing to spend all my time doing that—and then—”</p>
<p>He makes a sound that almost sounds like a laugh. “Didn’t seem like you were that upset about it. Didn’t take you all that long to get over me, now did it?”</p>
<p>“—and then you caught off all our contact out of nowhere. Like I was nothing to you. Like you could just kick me aside because I didn’t do <em>exactly </em>what you wanted me to—”</p>
<p>“And then, you hooked up with Sonnett!”</p>
<p>Lindsey almost slaps him.</p>
<p>She feels wave after wave of anger and hurt shaking through her, because he doesn’t have a right to bring <em>that </em>up, not now, not when Sonny is being traded and she hadn’t said goodbye at camp, not when they didn’t even—</p>
<p>Back in August, they didn’t—</p>
<p>(Emily’s mouth had been soft on hers, almost tentative; tasting of lemon tea with honey, wet and needy, with a strange sort of sober desire that had kicked up Lindsey’s heartbeat more than any other kiss she’d ever had with anyone.</p>
<p>And yes, she’d kissed back; had forgotten all about Mario Kart in the middle of a Saturday afternoon in her apartment, had stroked a hand up the side of Emily’s face, pulling her closer.</p>
<p>And yes, she’d <em>wanted </em>to; in a way that had felt shaky and thrilling, never having done that with a girl, let alone her best friend in the whole world, never even daring to let her mind wander there unless she was drunk—</p>
<p>And Emily had been so close and hot and <em>into her—</em></p>
<p>But she’d been two weeks out of a relationship, and her mind and her heart had been too messy and out of control to trust herself, and Emily had kissed her like it mattered, and Lindsey couldn’t—</p>
<p>She wouldn’t—)</p>
<p>“We didn’t hook up,” she bites out. “Fuck you, Russell.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t seem fazed at all. “But you wanted to, didn’t you? You told me all about how much you wanted to when we—”</p>
<p>And Lindsey <em>does </em>slap him.</p>
<p>Her palm connects with his jaw in the same second that it flashes through her mind. How she’d told him about the kiss after they’d gotten back together again. How he’d pressed her for details, brought it up at random times, unable to forget about it. How he’d gotten them out of her when they were having sex. How he’d touch her and demanded she become some kind of fantasy, something for him to jerk off to and—</p>
<p>She slaps him.</p>
<p>And it’s so aggressive and so unlike her, but he deserves it and it feels so satisfying to see the red on his cheeks as she bites out, “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to use it however you fucking please, Russell. It’s not—”</p>
<p>And she doesn’t even know how to say it, doesn’t know how to scream that it doesn’t exist for the sake of <em>his </em>pleasure, not when he refuses to acknowledge that it’s something she might actually—</p>
<p>That Lindsey might actually be—</p>
<p>He rubs at his jaw. “Fuck, Lindsey. Jesus, baby—what the <em>fuck</em>—”</p>
<p>“I’m not your baby.” She’s red hot with anger, tears streaming down her face. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to see you anymore.”</p>
<p>He tenses up. “You don’t want to see me tonight?”</p>
<p>She spits out the word. “Ever.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. you can be my full time baby (hot or cold)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N:</p><p>Chapter title from Lana del Rey's "Ride".  </p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her phone buzzes against her thigh.</p><p>She’s sitting on the floor, busy shoving stuff into boxes, her music on loud as she’s sorting through her hoodies and her sweaters, trying to decide how many she’ll even need when she’s in Florida. She’s half distracted when she slides her thumb over her screen, and by the time the notification flashes Lindsey’s name into her face, it’s already too late.</p><p>Emily freezes.</p><p>Her body goes cold, then hot, and it happens so fast—such a rough reaction to something so simple as an Instagram notification—but she can barely read through the post before her throat closes off and her vision blurs. The picture, their matching red kits, the flash of words, the <em>Dasani</em>, the <em>I never thought</em>, the <em>what makes you special</em>—and then she’s choking on her breath and dropping her phone, feeling like she never wants to pick it up ever again.</p><p>Her music is still loud, is still playing some fucking playlist that Lindsey probably made her, and Emily can’t—</p><p>She’s trembling and she rubs at her eyes, trying to stop herself from crying.</p><p>It’s so stupid. It’s just an Instagram post. And really, she’s been feeling so much better the past week. Has been leaning hard into Ash and Ali’s unwavering support and excitement about the trade, has texted with Alex about getting to play on the same field, about how strong the backline will be, has scrolled through every dumb and unnecessary ‘Things To Do In Orlando’ article that Kelley has been sending her way, and now Lindsey—</p><p>Lindsey has to go ahead and ruin it.</p><p>Like always.</p><p>The anger flares up just like that. She’s grabbing for her phone again, is already typing <em>are you seeing this </em>and <em>check instagram </em>to Kelley, is already deleting the stupid playlist out of her Spotify library. She’s so, so<em> fucking </em>angry suddenly—</p><p>And then Emma calls, and Emily actually starts crying the second she picks up.</p><p>“Come on,” Emma says, when Emily has choked her way through half an explanation. “Don’t let it get to you like that.”</p><p>“You know she’s basically been ignoring me for weeks, right?” Emily bites out, and it’s all shaky and hurt and she <em>hates </em>it. “She’s been fucking ignoring me for weeks and now all of a sudden she—she…” Her anger pulls everything tight together. “And she hasn’t even said anything about it to my face! She’s just doing <em>God knows what </em>in Denver and posting all of this on Instagram like I’m not even here, like it’s fine to just let me <em>leave </em>like that.”</p><p>“Well, not to be on brand and offer the voice of reason…” Emma says, “But a conversation takes two people, smartass.”</p><p>Emily considers smashing her phone against the wall.</p><p>“Can you not—” she tries. It cuts off in a shaky gasp for breath. “Can you just be nice, please?”</p><p>“When have I ever,” Emma deadpans, and then, unfazed as always, she says, “You’re an idiot. You’re an absolute idiot. First, you kiss her in France—” Emily winces, hates that Emma knows, that it got dragged out of her the second she came home. “Then, you chicken out of actually telling her you’ve basically been love with her since the day you met her—”</p><p>“I’m not—” It sounds weak. “I’m not in—”</p><p>Emma talks right over it. “Then, she’s <em>actually </em>single. You disappear to Portland for like a month, don’t speak to anyone. No one knows what is happening. And then, all of a sudden, she’s back with Russell and you’re sleeping with girls you’re not into and constantly texting Kelley—and oh, by the way, how <em>is </em>Kelley’s girlfriend?”</p><p>It hits her hard and cold. Emily pushes her forearm to her face, trying to block Emma out.</p><p>Emma doesn’t care. “—and then you get traded and, yes, it fucking sucks, I know that. But Lindsey is <em>trying</em>. Maybe not in the way you want. And, sure, maybe she should have spoken to you instead of writing and Instagram post about it, but it’s also time you get over yourself. For fuck’s sake, just sort it out.”</p><p>It’s so different from what everyone else has been saying that Emily actually pauses. She’s quiet for a long time, her breathing still ragged, and then she mumbles, “Right…”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>Emily groans. “I don’t know. Whatever. Maybe.”</p><p>“Just don’t be dumb.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Emily scoffs. “Great advice.”</p><p>She can basically hear Emma’s smirk. “I know. I really am the backbone of this family.”</p><p>Emily’s mind is still spinning too much for her to actually take the bait. She bites her lip. “So, what, I just… talk to her?”</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Emma says.</p><p>Emily’s upper lip curls, just a little bit. “Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain like that.”</p><p>“Yes, you talk to her, you genius. How you ever graduated college is beyond me.”</p><p>“I’m better at soccer than you are.”</p><p>“Barely,” Emma says, but Emily can hear the grin. “I mean, you did get traded, so…”</p><p>The laugh that escapes Emily’s throat is so unexpected that it releases almost all the tension in her body at once. “Fuck off,” she says, but for the first time since she picked up the phone, she’s smiling. “That’s really fucking mean.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Emma says. “Should I save the trade jokes for Christmas?”</p><p>Emily leans back against the wall. “Don’t go around pretending that you’re actually funny.”</p><p>“I’ll do a whole set,” Emma says. “Orlando-themed. It will be all sad and immature. Mom will love it.”</p><p>“She will disown you for making fun of her favorite child.”</p><p>They go back and forth until the tears on Emily’s cheeks have dried up and she’s sufficiently calmed down to actually take a breath and read the post. It’s weird, because she can see Lindsey all over it, but in a way, it’s also distant, almost like Lindsey only halfway committed to writing it. It makes Emily bite down on her lip, makes her hesitate to comment on it.</p><p>Her thumb is already hovering over Lindsey’s contact info before she can really talk herself out of it. She can hear Emma’s voice still echo in her mind.</p><p>
  <em>Talk to her.</em>
</p><p>But then her mind flashes to Denver, flashes to Lindsey being home, to Lindsey being home with <em>Russell</em>—</p><p>She pushes her phone back in her jeans, ignores the post, and forces herself to continue packing.</p><p>:::</p><p>Houston feels different.</p><p>Their first Olympic qualifying match is coming up, and everyone can feel it; training is more intense, more demanding. The stakes have been raised, the pressure higher than before. They’re all aware of the fact that they haven’t played a real match together in months, and that the World Cup legacy is something that can only be sustained if they all put in their best effort.</p><p>But it’s more than that.</p><p>She realizes it when she’s at the breakfast table before the first training session, realizes it with a grin and a bit of a surprise—she’s actually <em>excited </em>again.</p><p>She’s ready to play, ready to have fun.</p><p>They’re so close to being out there; to hear the crowds, to greet the fans, to play a real game together as a team again. It helps settle her emotions about the trade more than she’d expected, helps ease the frustration she’d felt during last camp. She’s in good shape, she’s going to get minutes, she’s with her friends. It’s exciting.</p><p>“What are you grinning about?”</p><p>Rose drops down next to her, and then, only two seconds later—</p><p>Lindsey is looking sleepy and soft, still dressed in a light blue hoodie and leggings instead of her team wear. For a second, Emily’s gaze gets stuck on her shoulders, the way she fills out the hoodie, the soft exposed skin of her neck. For a second, she has to fight the absurd <em>urge </em>to reach out and touch Lindsey.</p><p>But then, she’s realizing Rose’s question is aimed at her, and she fires back, dry and still half distracted, “Your face.”</p><p>Lindsey chuckles as she takes the seat on Emily’s other side.</p><p>It’s nothing.    </p><p>It wasn’t even funny.</p><p>But the fact that Lindsey—</p><p>The white of her teeth as she smiles, the way her eyes flick to Emily’s, the soft sound as she laughs—it’s enough to flood Emily’s whole body with warmth. She grins back before she realizes it. But then, Lindsey is looking kind of startled, almost like she didn’t expect that, and Emily instantly feels empty again, blinks her eyes sheepishly and focuses on her coffee, instead of on the color of Lindsey’s eyes, how that stupid sweater makes them all bright and—</p><p>Rose rolls her eyes. “Funny.”</p><p>“It’s a compliment,” Emily says, just to say <em>anything</em>, just to stop herself from looking at Lindsey. “I was just so excited to witness your exquisite beauty, Rose. I simply couldn’t help myself and sit here, thinking about—”</p><p>“Fuck off,” Rose says. “Get me coffee first. You know I can’t handle you in the morning.”</p><p>Emily blows her a kiss and Rose tries to kick her shin, and it’s so normal, it’s just like always, and still, Emily is so aware of how Lindsey keeps looking at her, how she can feel the warmth of Lindsey’s stare all throughout breakfast.</p><p>:::</p><p>Emily knocks them to the ground during practice.</p><p>She doesn’t mean to. She really doesn’t.</p><p>It’s just that—</p><p>Well, Sam’s pass is just a bit off and Lindsey is already racing towards it, trying to make it anyway, but Emily is closer, knows that if she <em>pushes</em>, she can get to the ball a second earlier, and a second is all she needs—</p><p>She knocks so hard into Lindsey’s side that it sends both of them flying to the ground.</p><p>Lindsey groans, her breath hot to the side of Emily’s neck. “Oh my God, Sonny—”</p><p>She’s knocked Lindsey flat on her back, and Emily’s blushes at the way their legs are tangled, is already apologizing, already scrambling to get to her feet. “Whoops, didn’t mean—”</p><p>But Lindsey’s hand is on her wrist and she’s grinning, smiling up at the sky and shaking her head in disbelief. She pushes Emily off her teasingly. “Save those skills for the game, Son.”</p><p>Emily’s whole body goes soft.</p><p>She’s panting as she gets to her feet, holds out a hand to help Lindsey up. “Least favorite player to play against, huh?”</p><p>The words have left her mouth before she realizes the implication. That Lindsey will <em>know </em>the reference, will <em>know </em>she’s seen the post, even when she didn’t—</p><p>Lindsey’s cheeks color, and it doesn’t happen often, and Emily feels her stomach flip at the sight.</p><p>For a moment she thinks she’s gone too far.</p><p>But then Lindsey pushes her shoulder, enough force behind it to make Emily stumble.</p><p>She over-does it on purpose, just to make Lindsey’s smile curl wider, feigning her lack of balance with a fake gasp. “Hey!”</p><p>Lindsey laughs; real and warm and close.</p><p>“Shut up,” she mumbles. “Just pass me the ball.”</p><p>:::</p><p>She’s on Kelley’s bed.</p><p>They’re watching a movie but not anything that Emily actually feels like paying attention to. Rose is there. Abby, Sam, Lindsey, Tobin. It’s a lot of people in one hotel room, and really, it’s getting pretty late and they should be getting some rest with the first game coming up. But somehow this is how they’ve assembled together, and it’s just too good to break it up already.</p><p>It makes Emily feel like they’re in France again.</p><p>It makes her loose and excited and loud.</p><p>She flicks popcorn at the collar of Kelley’s hoodie, laughs when it hits her nose, and then scrambles to get away as quickly as she can, as Kelley nearly chokes her, shaking her so violently that they nearly tip the popcorn bowl over completely.</p><p>“Can someone send these children away?” Abby is saying, but she’s grinning.</p><p>Kelley’s knee connects hard with Emily’s hip and Emily doubles over, gets shoved off the bed in the process.</p><p>“<em>Hey</em>.” She groans, even though it doesn’t hurt that much.</p><p>“Stay there,” Kelley says. “You don’t deserve to be on my bed anymore.”</p><p>Tobin drops into the empty space right away, tries to change the movie to an NBA game. Rose is busy showing videos of Wilma to Sam, ones they’ve all seen already. And Lindsey—</p><p>Lindsey is standing by the door, looking at Emily.</p><p>She’s got an expression on her face that Emily can’t quite read. It’s somewhere between enjoyment and tension, and the second that Emily meets her eyes, Lindsey looks away almost like she got caught. Almost like she’d been tracking her movement, all the way from fighting with Kelley to the hotel room floor.</p><p>It makes something twist in Emily’s body. She feels breathless for no reason at all.</p><p>And then, Lindsey is looking back at her again, and no one is really paying attention and Emily’s mind flashes.</p><p>Just like that, she’s in France, and Lindsey tastes of too many glasses of champagne, tastes of something bursting open in Emily’s chest; something wild and hot and loose, something like control slipping through her fingers. Lindsey’s mouth is soft and needy, and Emily hesitates long enough to think <em>she’s your best friend, she’s your best friend in the whole world, and didn’t you tell yourself that you weren’t in love with her? </em>and then Lindsey is yanking on her jersey, and Emily falls forward, wants her hand on the bare skin of Lindsey’s stomach, wants to press her down into the empty bathtub and—</p><p>Just like that, she’s in Portland, and Lindsey has been single for two whole weeks. Two whole weeks of coffee dates and too much eye contact and falling asleep in Lindsey’s bed after watching <em>Grey’s </em>instead of in her own, and she’s sober when she kisses Lindsey for the second time, is sober when Lindsey tells her—</p><p>She’s in Houston, on the floor of Kelley’s hotel room, and Lindsey can’t stop looking at her for some reason, and Emily feels so confused about it that she can barely even glance back.</p><p>It makes her blush.</p><p>Which is annoying. Because she’s just trying to be cool, is just trying to have a good night with her friends, forgetting about the trade for a second.</p><p>She’s breathing a little high in her chest, leaning back against the bed like she’s not freaking out, and she’s so focused on trying to force herself to be calm, that she misses the first half of what Rose is saying, only catches on when she hears, “—what would Russell think about that, Linds?”</p><p>Lindsey’s head snaps up, like she’s also didn’t properly hear it. And then there’s a flush rising up the side of Lindsey’s neck and whatever point Rose was trying to make doesn’t matter anymore, because Lindsey blurts out, “I broke up with Russell.”</p><p>It’s like she doesn’t hear it properly.</p><p>It’s like there’s only white noise, only tension and heat and confusion and then—</p><p>“Wait, what?” Tobin says. “You did what?”</p><p>“I—uh,” Lindsey says. Her voice drops low, like it does when she’s trying to sound indifferent about something. “I broke up with him. We had a really big fight and it wasn’t working anyway and—yeah.”</p><p>She shoves her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie and shrugs, looks down at her sneakers.</p><p>Tobin is already scooting forward on the bed, is already trying to decide if she needs to reach out or not. Rose has stopped laughing, and Sam and Abby are just kind of looking at each other. Kelley’s eyes are slightly narrowed. There’s a crease in her forehead and tension in her shoulders, and she doesn’t look like she’s sorry for Lindsey at all—which kind of shocks Emily, even though she’s also not sure how to respond, not entirely sure what she’s feeling.</p><p>And then Abby says, “That fucking sucks, Linds.”</p><p>It breaks the tension a bit. Abby is already stepping forward, hand on Lindsey’s arm, and Rose is rambling about how boys are stupid anyway, and Lindsey is giving her a weak smile, is saying, “No, Rose—it’s… it’s not… We—I don’t know, it just needed to happen. I didn’t want to be with him anymore. It’s fine, really,” and through it all, Emily is quiet and still, has not moved from her spot on the floor, can’t really hear anything besides the beating of her own her heart.</p><p>She wonders if Lindsey cried.</p><p>She wonders if it was before or after she posted that picture.</p><p>She wonders if this time, if this time—</p><p>“Em.” Kelley’s voice is close, fingers pressed lightly to her shoulder. “You good?”</p><p>It’s quiet, just for her to hear, and Emily—</p><p>Somehow, the consideration cuts into the center of her chest the wrong way, the soft touch of Kelley’s fingers, how she doesn’t seem to give a fuck about Lindsey’s breakup, but her eyes are worried and dark, trying to figure out whether Emily is—</p><p>She doesn’t deserve it.</p><p>That’s what she’s thinking as she stumbles to her feet.</p><p>She doesn’t deserve any of it. She doesn’t deserve Lindsey messing with her head like this, all these mixed signals. She doesn’t deserve to be second choice to Russell—<em>again</em>. She doesn’t deserve Kelley’s attention when she’s done nothing but abuse it the past months. She doesn’t deserve to be traded to a different team, doesn’t deserve to be disposable.</p><p>“I’m going to bed,” she mumbles, ignoring Rose’s stare, ignoring Abby’s raised eyebrows, ignoring that they’ll <em>know</em>, that they’ll know exactly why she’s walking out.</p><p>It doesn’t matter.</p><p>She just wants to be alone; wants to focus on soccer and on qualifying; wants to be three years into the future already and find some different girl to be in love with.</p><p>“<em>Sonny</em>—”</p><p>She’s halfway to her own room when Lindsey catches up with her. She doesn’t stop walking, just slows, reflexively, but then, Lindsey’s arm is on her elbow and it halts her to a stop.</p><p>“Oh, hey,” she says, like they weren’t just in the same hotel room together, like Lindsey isn’t chasing after her because Emily walked out because of <em>her.</em></p><p>Lindsey’s eyes are light and piercing, and she says, “Are you—” She coughs. “Is everything okay?”</p><p>Emily scoffs. It’s a harsh and mean sound, and she doesn’t even intend for it to come out that way, but here it is—all her hurt pushing through her reservations. “What do you think?”</p><p>Lindsey looks slightly taken aback.</p><p>(—looks pretty, even with her hair up in a messy bun, frown on her face and her lip worried red between her teeth; looks so attractive in leggings and a goddamn <em>t-shirt, </em>and is not fair, not fair at all—)</p><p>She says, “Sonny, I don’t know why you’re—”</p><p>Emily snaps.</p><p>“Why I’m what?” she bites out, and she never,<em> ever</em>, gets angry, not with Lindsey, not like this, but <em>god</em>. “For fuck’s sake, Linds, do you <em>think </em>I’m okay? You never even talk to me, then you break up with him out of nowhere, and now all throughout camp you’re looking at me like you’re—like you want—”</p><p>Her voice catches in her throat and she doesn’t know how to say it, doesn’t know how to tell Lindsey what it does to her.</p><p>“Like what?” Lindsey’s voice sounds even, but Emily can see the tension in her shoulders. “I look at you like I want what?”</p><p>She can feel that her face is hot, and she doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want to think about how exposed she’d been the last time she’d had Lindsey’s attention on her like this; the only time they’ve ever come close to talking about it; how Lindsey had known exactly how much Emily had wanted her, and—</p><p>“August,” Emily breathes out. “You’re looking at me like it’s August.”</p><p>Lindsey takes a sharp breath. She’s still for a second and then she reaches forward, like she wants to touch her fingers to the side of Emily’s arm.</p><p>She flinches away. “Don’t.”</p><p>And here it is—</p><p>The ugly side of how that had gone down.</p><p>How Lindsey had known exactly how Emily felt, just to get on a plane and go back to Russell like she hadn’t even said anything in the first place.</p><p>“Em,” Lindsey says.</p><p>And she never says that; calls her Sonnett and Sonny, and even Emily on the rare occasion that she’s trying to really get Emily’s attention. But not—</p><p>“No, you don’t get it.” Emily’s voice is hoarse, anger already giving way to the shakiness of her emotions, to everything she’s been trying to push down. “You don’t know how it’s been for me. You don’t know how it was when—”</p><p>“That’s because you didn’t even <em>tell </em>me about the trade,” Lindsey snaps.</p><p>And it’s not—</p><p>Lindsey doesn’t understand that—</p><p>“That’s not what I meant.” It almost comes out as a whisper, but Lindsey recoils so abruptly that it feels like she shouted the words.</p><p>Emily watches the way Lindsey bites down on her bottom lip, watches the light blush appear on Lindsey’s cheeks as she seems to realize what it’s about that, watches the mix of emotions enfold on her face; realization, followed by guilt, followed by something, something that’s a little like—</p><p>“Em,” Lindsey says again. “It’s… it’s not like last time… I’m… I don’t want to be with him.”</p><p>Emily makes a sound that’s halfway between a sob and a scoff. “Yeah, okay. If you say so.”</p><p>Hurt crosses Lindsey’s face and Emily flinches at the sight, even when she meant it to be sharp. She bites down hard on her bottom lip, then adds, “What do you want me to say?”</p><p>Lindsey studies her. She takes a breath, seems caught between the tension of wanting to speak and not knowing how to get the words out. Her bottom lip is trembling, and the last time they’d done this—</p><p>The last time, Emily woke up startled in the middle of the night to the words <em>let’s just be friends </em>racing through her head, over and over again, for a month.</p><p>“I’m going to bed,” she says, when Lindsey stays quiet.</p><p>But then, just as she turns to step away, Lindsey says, “It’s not like August. It’s—Sonny, it’s for real. I’m… I’m not with him, anymore.”</p><p>Emily just nods, just once, and then walks off. But as she makes her way back to her room, as she slips out of her clothes and under the covers, she does think, <em>fuck, okay</em>. Apparently Lindsey’s really single now. Whatever that means.</p><p>:::</p><p>Christen scores in the second minute against Haiti, but the game doesn’t go the way they want it to. Haiti plays physical and they just can’t seem to get any goals in the back of the net. It takes them deep into the second half to score again—and Emily watches from the bench, tense and jittery the whole way through.</p><p>Lindsey gets subbed in pretty much right after. It’s only a matter of minutes. Kelley plays the corner short, Pinoe curls it across and Emily holds her breath—</p><p>Watches Lindsey head it down into the goal.</p><p>She’s on her feet, clenching her fist tight in celebration.</p><p>But the game is still not what they need it to be. She gets subbed in for the last ten minutes, plays them as well as she can, and they somehow get another goal, but it’s not great.</p><p>It’s not a proper reflection of what they’re capable of, and everyone knows it.</p><p>:::</p><p>The game against Panama is different.</p><p>First of all, they both get to start.</p><p>Lindsey meets her eyes while they’re standing in the tunnel, waiting to go on, and it sends a little thrill through Emily’s body. They haven’t really talked, not after their conversation about Lindsey’s breakup, but being on the field together again has softened something—even though Emily’s not really sure what it is.</p><p>She feels hot under Lindsey’s gaze, and tries to play it off by giving her a cheeky sort of wave. It’s dumb, but worth it for the way that Lindsey flushes, just a little bit. Emily grins wider.</p><p>In the pre-game huddle, Lindsey is standing right behind her, close and pressed to Emily’s back. She tries not to think about it too much, but it makes her feel even more ready to be out here, even more ready to play—especially when Lindsey knocks her hand against Emily’s and says, “Come on, Sonny, we got this.”</p><p>“Yeah,” she says, feeling like something is opening up a bit. “Let’s go.”</p><p>And then they’re off.</p><p>Right away, Lindsey misses a shot on open goal. Even from the backline, Emily can see the frustration in Lindsey’s body; the tense set of her shoulders, the scowl on her face. But then—</p><p>It’s only moments later, 3<sup>rd</sup> minute, but Lindsey hits the ball hard to the back of the net, and Emily feels a rush of affection and excitement so powerful that she jumps up and down, screams her celebration right across the field.</p><p>In the 18<sup>th</sup> minute, Lindsey scores again—and this time Emily is there. She can’t stop smiling, can’t wipe the grin off her face as she hugs Lindsey close, all sweat and grass stains and triumph.</p><p>“Fuck yes,” she says, “You did that. Go get another one.”</p><p>Lindsey beams at her.</p><p>After that, things get more frustrating, though. Panama is stepping up their game, getting more and more physical, and Emily can tell that Lindsey is desperate for another goal. Can see the determination in her runs, the way she pushes herself to get closer and closer. By the time they get back to the tunnel at the end of the first half, Lindsey has been fouled at least seven times, and she’s frowning and annoyed, swearing under her breath.</p><p>“Hey,” Emily says, running up to her. “Linds, we’ve got an entire half left. There’s plenty of time—”</p><p>“I’m playing shit,” Lindsey says, low and angry. “I’m fucking it all up.”</p><p>Emily grabs a hold of Lindsey’s arm before she can stop herself, is stepping up into Lindsey’s space, close and sweaty, before she can hold herself back. “Stop.” she says. “Linds—” And then, “Linessi.”</p><p>It earns her a scoff and a laugh, but Lindsey is looking at her now.</p><p>Emily pushes a bit closer, doesn’t care that they’re in a crowded tunnel, doesn’t care that they’re wasting precious seconds to hurry up and get to the locker room to hear Vlatko’s pointers for the second half.</p><p>“Come on,” she says. “You’re The Great Horan. You’ve got this, you hear me?”</p><p>Lindsey swallows, and then—</p><p>Her eyes drop to Emily’s mouth—</p><p>Just for a second, almost like she can’t help it.</p><p>Emily steps back so quickly that she nearly knocks into one of the staff members. Her face feels hot and burning.</p><p>Lindsey blinks hard. “Right. Okay. Let’s—Vlatko is—”</p><p>She gestures vaguely with her hand and starts walking at the same time, leaving Emily with a second of breathing space before she hurries to catch up, pushing the whole thing to the back of her mind as well as she can.</p><p>:::</p><p>Lindsey gets her hattrick in the 81<sup>st</sup> minute. It’s one hell of a shot. Emily screams her throat hoarse in celebration, then flushes like crazy when Lindsey gives her a cocky sort of grin after the game, and says, “Got you that third one.”</p><p>She decides to blame the hammering of her heart an the 90 minutes she just played.</p><p>:::</p><p>They get into a sort of competitive haze—all of Emily’s favorite things about playing a tournament like this blurring together; the adrenaline spikes from playing a lot of games in front of hyped-up crowds; the rhythm they find together again, on and off the field; the way her life seems to blend entirely into the national team for a while.</p><p>Lindsey scores for the third game in a row against Costa Rica, and they both get to play the full 90 minutes.</p><p>And then, suddenly they’re flying to California for the semi-finals against Mexico, and they’re so much closer to Tokyo.</p><p>Emily doesn’t play.</p><p>She doesn’t play, but she gets to watch Rose score in the 5<sup>th</sup> minute, gets to watch the score climb up to 4-0, gets to watch Lindsey sub in at the 76 minute mark, and then—</p><p>Everyone is screaming, celebrating, and Kelley is jumping up and into Emily’s arms, punching her shoulder, saying “Tokyo, baby! We’re going to Tokyo!”</p><p>People are high fiving each other, slapping each other’s backs, but Emily—</p><p>She can only look at Lindsey.</p><p>Lindsey, who is sweaty and grinning, a blade of grass stuck to her forehead, who is looking right back at her, in the mess of celebration, past everyone else, her eyes focused and bright.</p><p>Somehow, that’s the thing that makes Emily feel like she’s going to explode out of her body with excitement.</p><p>:::</p><p>She shouldn’t be drinking.</p><p>Or—not this much, at least.</p><p>Not this much this quickly.</p><p>But they’re in a rented-out section of a restaurant, celebrating with an open bar, and they’re going to the Olympics, and Rose had dragged Emily to the corner for shots pretty much the second they’d arrived, so now she’s—</p><p>She’s pretty drunk.</p><p>It feels like France.</p><p>It’s not the first time that Emily has thought it. There’s been a kind of energy that she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing this much, and it’s exactly like France. She’s with her best friends; she gets to win games; and her and Lindsey—</p><p>Well, that’s going to be a problem.</p><p>Lindsey is looking unfairly hot in her dark jeans and shiny black top, the one with the thin straps that makes Emily’s mouth dry every time she glances over. She been trying to stay away from her a bit, busying herself with Kelley and Rose instead. But then Rose keeps pulling Lindsey over for more rounds, and Lindsey keeps leaning against the bar and tapping her fingers against the glass, like <em>wants </em>Emily to look at her hands, like she knows exactly where it sends Emily’s mind when she’s buzzed like this, and it’s—</p><p>It’s definitely a problem.</p><p>“What is?” Rose says, and Emily belatedly realizes she’s said it out loud.</p><p>“This.” Emily waves her hand vaguely in front of her.</p><p>“You need water,” Rose says. “You’re not making any sense.”</p><p>Emily tries to tell Rose that <em>she </em>is not the one who’s been buying all these shots, but she doesn’t really get anywhere, before she’s already being pushed in the direction of the bar.</p><p>She’s half-turned back, trying to flip Rose off as she nearly loses her balance and then—</p><p>“Ow, <em>fuck—</em>sorry.”</p><p>Lindsey hums. “Hey.”</p><p>Emily forces herself to stand up a little straighter. “Hi.”</p><p>“Decided to finally hang out with me?”</p><p>Lindsey’s mouth is wet from her drink and it’s painfully distracting. Emily’s already forgetting why she’s even at the bar. Now that Lindsey’s right in front of her, she can’t really look anywhere else—feels the heat spreading through her when she takes in the sight of Lindsey’s eyes, her pupils a little blown, the way her hair frames the smooth skin of her neck, those damn shoulders.</p><p>“Always want to hang out with you,” she says, and it’s—</p><p>She is flushing and Lindsey’s eyes darken, fingers falling still on the straw in her glass.</p><p>“Yeah?” Lindsey’s voice is low, and they’re right in the middle of a bar with all of their teammates, so it shouldn’t be having this kind of effect on Emily, but it does. She is buzzed and tense and her best friend is looking like every girl Emily’s dreamed of since she was fifteen.</p><p>“Linds…” she mumbles.</p><p>She watches the way Lindsey’s throat bobs as she swallows, and then, Lindsey says, “Want to go outside for a second?”</p><p>Emily can feel her heart racing high in her chest, can feel the way her hands get warm, a little clammy.</p><p>It’s code.</p><p>She’s not fucking stupid.</p><p>She knows Lindsey well enough to read it for what it is.</p><p>She doesn’t say anything, just puts her beer on the bar and turns around.</p><p>:::</p><p>They’re ten feet away from the entrance of the bar, when Emily pushes Lindsey back against the wall and kisses her.</p><p>It’s not like France.</p><p>It’s <em>nothing</em> like France.</p><p>It’s rough and fast; hands tangling into Lindsey’s hair, fingers so hard on her hip that Lindsey groans into Emily’s mouth. Lindsey tastes of rum and something fruity, and Emily doesn’t hesitate for even a second to bite down on her bottom lip, pressing her harder against the wall. There’s not really anything nice about it; it’s a harsh push and pull, Lindsey’s nails digging into her back, and this is her best friend in the whole world, Emily thinks. This is the person she cares more about than anyone else.</p><p>A stuttered-out <em>Let’s just be friends</em> flashes through her mind, claws at her heart almost painfully.</p><p>She lets Lindsey flip them, lets Lindsey back her up against the wall like it’s nothing.</p><p>And Emily is drunk enough to forget that it isn’t, drunk enough to forget she’s being stupid, drunk enough to forget that maybe, this will only make things worse.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N:</p><p>… how are we feeling?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. we cannot be friends (cannot pretend that it makes sense)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N:</p><p>Hello beautiful humans, enjoy! Title from HAIM's "Now I'm In It".</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She calls Emily after a morning run.</p><p>It’s been about a week since they’ve last talked. Lindsey is spending time between camps in Denver. Emily’s in Portland. Or, at least, Lindsey’s pretty sure she’s still in Portland, pretty sure Emily hasn’t actually moved to Orlando yet.</p><p>Point is, she doesn’t actually know, but she’s been thinking about it for the last four miles, and so she calls.</p><p>She’s sweaty and out of breath, just happy that her heartbeat seems to have slowed down enough to talk again, and maybe that’s why she doesn’t even think about it twice when she clicks Sonny’s contact and waits for her to pick up. It takes a while, almost long enough that Lindsey’s breath has steadied completely, but then there’s a click and Emily says, “Hi?”</p><p>It hits her differently than expected.</p><p>She’s on a hiking trail in Denver, stretching her hamstring, but all of a sudden Emily’s voice sounds hoarse through Lindsey’s earbuds and she’s right back in California, being pushed against the cold stone wall outside the bar, being <em>kissed</em>—</p><p>“Uh—” Emily’s voice sounds hesitant. “Lindsey?”</p><p>“Oh, yes, hey,” she stutters out. “What’s… What’s up?”</p><p>Emily is quiet for a second. “Nothing much.”</p><p>It’s awkward.</p><p>Suddenly, Lindsey doesn’t know why she called.</p><p>“You still in Portland?” she says, because Emily’s not saying anything else.</p><p>Anxiety claws roughly at her heart; yes, they were drunk and maybe it was stupid, but Lindsey had wanted to—<em>hadn’t Emily felt how much she’d wanted to?</em>—and she’d really figured that maybe this time it would turn out okay. But in the brief moment of silence that follows her question, she suddenly feels like she vastly overstated that.</p><p>“Um,” Emily says. “I’m in Salt Lake City, actually.”</p><p>Lindsey stills completely.</p><p>“Oh,” she says. “Oh, okay, never mind, then, I just—”</p><p>She can’t finish her sentence, because Emily is already talking over it. “We’re just training. Kelley suggested it. It’s not—I know everyone thinks that it’s like…”</p><p>And Lindsey hadn’t even thought of that, but suddenly jealousy is gripping at her throat and she feels <em>stupid </em>and worthless and like she made a mistake trying to reach out.</p><p>“That’s nice.” She has to force the words out of her mouth. “That’s great, Son. Just… just perfect—I’ll… I’ve actually got to, uh—”</p><p>Before she can think of an excuse to hang up, Emily says, “No, Linds, wait.” She’s quiet, and Emily adds, “Why’d you call?”</p><p>Lindsey has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop herself from scoffing. She wants to say, <em>why do you think? </em>Wants to say, <em>shouldn’t we talk about it? </em>Wants to say, <em>why the fuck did you kiss me like that and then left to stay at Kelley’s place?</em></p><p>Instead, she huffs out a weird sort of laugh and says, “Can’t I just call you for no reason?” Emily doesn’t reply, and Lindsey presses her fingers hard to her eyebrows, breathing once, twice, before she rushes out, “Fine. Whatever. I just wanted to check if you were in Portland because maybe I’ll fly home earlier and I thought I could, like, help you pack, or whatever, but clearly you’re with Kelley now, so never mind. I’m busy anyway.”</p><p>“Right,” Emily says after a second, and it’s the most stunted conversation they have ever had.</p><p>Lindsey feels tears burn behind her eyes, sudden and pressing, and it hasn’t hurt like this before, the break-up, but suddenly she feels upset and lonely and <em>ignored </em>all at once. It knocks the sadness into her ribs like a punch, and this is what it feels like, then, she thinks; this is what it’s like being single; this is what it’s like to somehow screw everything up without even knowing how exactly.</p><p>In the background, Lindsey can hear Kelley say something. She can’t make out the exact words, but she recognizes the way Kelley speaks, and Lindsey feels the wave of bitterness and jealously so hard that she nearly chokes.</p><p>She feels like’s sixteen and small. Without a boyfriend. Watching how her best friend is hanging out with someone better—her <em>other </em>best friend, or her crush, or whatever the fuck Kelley even is to Emily these days.</p><p>“Okay, bye,” she says. “See you at SheBelieves. Tell Kelley I said hi.”</p><p>She can still hear Emily say, “Linds, I—” but then she presses the red button and locks her phone, shoving it so roughly in the pocket of her shorts that she nearly tears the seam.</p><p>It takes a second.</p><p>For a moment, she’s just still, muscles tense and jaw locked—held together by her anger and annoyance. But then the tears win and she’s crying with her next breath.</p><p>The thing is—she doesn’t even know what she wants. She’s pretty sure that’s actually part of the problem. She can’t ever really name what’s between her and Emily, except for the fact that’s it’s intense and confusing, and she’s only <em>just</em> broken up with Russel, so maybe it’s ridiculous she’s letting herself get upset when she doesn’t even know exactly <em>why</em>.</p><p>But, fuck.</p><p>She can still feel Emily’s mouth on hers when she closes her eyes.</p><p>She can still see the look in Emily’s eyes when she ended up next to Lindsey at the bar.</p><p>She doesn’t understand why they haven’t been able to have a proper conversation in actual <em>months. </em></p><p>Behind her, a mess of voices comes closer; a group of runners going up the trail. Lindsey wipes at her eyes quickly, trying to force a smile, trying to ignore how much she’s shaking as they pass by her. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, but she’s busy taking deep breaths and re-tying her hair to look a bit more calmed.</p><p>One of the runners waves in greeting, a sympathetic move of his hand, and Lindsey bites her bottom lip so hard it starts bleeding.</p><p>When she pulls her phone back out of her pocket, the name <em>Sonny </em>flickers across her screen in bold above the notification that she’s got one missed call.</p><p>She doesn’t call back.</p><p>:::</p><p>It’s good to be alone.</p><p>There are sweaters in her closet that she’s missed wearing, cleats kicked off and thrown messily into different corners of the apartment, and not nearly enough fresh groceries in her fridge. But she missed Portland, and she missed being in her own space, being home.</p><p>She has about a week left to get ready for camp and no one to see, really—and it’s good, for once.</p><p>It’s good to play her music the way she wants to. To wake up early and go running, to go through her stretching routines, then make herself coffee and sit on the balcony long enough to get cold; to breathe and wrap her fingers tighter around her cup, close her eyes. She thinks about Russell a bit. She feels tempted to text him, but she doesn’t. She slowly starts to feeling calmer about being alone like this.</p><p>There are good things coming up. She <em>loves </em>this tournament. They’re going to Tokyo.</p><p>She’s curled up on the couch watching a rerun episode of <em>The Bachelor </em>when the bell rings. She ordered Postmates about twenty minutes ago, so she hurries over thinking it’s her order, not even bothering to check before she opens the door and—</p><p>Emily is looking like she’s come straight off the plane.</p><p>She has her hair up under a blue baseball cap and still has a backpack swung across her left shoulder and a suitcase standing right next to her.</p><p>The first thing Lindsey says is, “Oh,” and then, “Sonny, you live like a minute away.”</p><p>“I know.” Emily looks nervous. She glances down, flushed and embarrassed. “Yeah, this is totally weird, but, like, I wanted to see you, and I thought I’d just see if you were in, cause I didn’t even know if you took that flight back or not, but anyway, I thought you wouldn’t be here, but you… you are…”</p><p>She trails off.</p><p>Lindsey can feel that her face is hot; the way it gets when she falls asleep on the couch under too many blankets and she wakes up, not really knowing what the fuck is happening.</p><p>“You wanted to see me?” she breathes out, somehow the only part she can focus on.</p><p>Emily nods. “Yeah.”</p><p>It doesn’t really take all that much, apparently.</p><p>Lindsey pushes the door open wider.</p><p>:::</p><p>The second they’re inside, Lindsey’s actual Postmates delivery arrives, and it’s a good enough excuse to share food on the couch while they watch the rest of the episode like it’s just any normal day. And it <em>is </em>normal. Emily is being judgmental about every single candidate and doing proper impressions of Chris Harrison that make Lindsey laugh, and it’s normal—except for the fact that they’re not looking at each other and clearly commentating the whole thing just to talk about <em>anything</em> other than the fact that Emily showed up out of nowhere and hasn’t said why.</p><p>“How was Salt Lake?” Lindsey says, purposefully avoiding Emily’s eyes as she grabs a bottle of wine from the kitchen. “Shiraz, okay?”</p><p>It’s a bad idea to drink wine, but what else are they going to do?</p><p>Emily makes a non-committed sound, then says, “Yeah, it was good. We trained a lot.”</p><p>Lindsey digs her nails into the palm of her hand. “Cool.”</p><p>She’s quiet as she pours the glasses, maybe a tiny bit too full. When she turns around, Emily’s sitting up on the couch, hands spread nervously on her knees.</p><p>“Hey, so—” she starts.</p><p>Lindsey freezes where she’s standing in the kitchen.</p><p>Emily’s eyes flick up to hers and she rubs her hands on her sweats, almost like her palms are suddenly clammy. “I, uh—well, sorry, about the other day.”</p><p>Lindsey stares at a spot on the wall just behind Emily’s head, doesn’t make eye contact.</p><p>“I was kind of surprised that you called, that’s all,” Emily says. “Didn’t really think you wanted to talk, and then—then you were like, <em>hey, let’s be in Portland </em>and, I don’t know, I—” She bites her bottom lip like she’s struggling to admit it. “I got a bit weird about it and I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.”</p><p>Lindsey’s throat is dry. “It’s cool. It’s fine.”</p><p>Emily looks at her, then. They’re far enough apart that it shouldn’t be as electric as it is, but Lindsey feels the charge through her whole body. She fights the urge to look away.</p><p>“Why did you call?” Emily says.</p><p>Lindsey clenches the glasses in her hand a little tighter. “Why did you show up here?” The smallest crease appears between Emily’s eyebrows and Lindsey adds, “You could have stayed in Utah.”</p><p>Her cheeks are warm, flush reaching down under the collar of her sweatshirt, and she feels like Emily can tell, because her mouth curves into the tiniest smile as she says, “Yeah, well. Kelley didn’t offer to help me pack, so…”</p><p>It’s enough to unfold the tension in Lindsey’s chest. She rolls her eyes, walks over to put the glasses on the coffee table, before taking hers and gulping half of it down. “So, when are you moving anyway?” she says.</p><p>Emily’s eyes are a little piercing, and for a second Lindsey swears that she can read the <em>So we’re not going to talk about it, then? </em>in her expression. But then Emily takes her own glass off the table and relaxes further into the couch. “After SheBelieves.” She shrugs. “I mean, I’ve moved, like, some stuff already. But my lease here ends after SheBelieves.”</p><p>Lindsey swallows hard, tries not to feel so sad so suddenly. It’s okay, she tells herself. She’s been preparing herself for this. Sonny is going to move and it’s okay. She forces the lightness into her tone when she says, “What’s your new place like, then?”</p><p>Emily gives her a small smile. “Come see for yourself after the tournament?”</p><p>And that—</p><p>Lindsey licks at her bottom lip, feels the tremble in her fingers when she places her wine glass on the table. If she speaks, she’s going to cry. She <em>knows</em> she’s going to cry, so she just needs to take a breath, needs to hold back whatever she wants to say, because it’s going to <em>break </em>her, so she just needs to look at the table instead of at Emily’s eyes.</p><p>But then, Emily says, “Fuck, Linds, are you okay? Sorry, I only meant if you want, like—”</p><p>And all the words come pouring out of her, anyway.</p><p>“I just miss you so much,” she chokes out. “I miss you so <em>fucking </em>much already. And you’re not even gone, but I can’t—I can’t think about your new place, because your new place is not with me. And I can’t think about visiting you, because it means you’ll be gone and you can’t—you can’t just—<em>you can’t leave me.</em>”</p><p>Emily’s eyes are wide. “Lindsey…”</p><p>“And I know I’m screwing it all up.” She rushes the words out. “I know I’m screwing it up because I broke up with Russell and I thought that—I thought it would just—” Her voice is rough. “But obviously you didn’t mean to kiss me last week. Obviously it didn’t mean what I thought it meant, and that’s fine, I—<em>I get it.</em>” She’s crying now, voice rough, every confession spilling over the one before. “I just feel like I’ve lost you. And I don’t know how to get you back. I don’t know how to get any of it back to the way it was.”</p><p>Emily shifts closer and then, with a soft and concerned sort of assertiveness that Lindsey’s only even seen when they do clinics with middle school kids who almost break their ankles trying to imitate Emily’s tackles, she tips up Lindsey’s chin and says, “<em>Hey</em>.”</p><p>It’s sharp enough that it makes Lindsey gasp.</p><p>It also makes her focus, snapped out of her emotional haze, just like that.</p><p>“Hey,” Emily says again, softer. “Linds…” She strokes her thumb over Lindsey’s jaw. Her eyebrows are slightly furrowed, when she whispers, “You haven’t lost me… Where the hell did you get that idea?”</p><p>Lindsey pulls back from Emily’s touch.</p><p>It’s too nice.</p><p>It’s too soft.</p><p>She’s been a goddamn fucking bitch about this trade situation from the start, has been sending Emily mixed signals for actual months, hasn’t even <em>dared </em>to really let her mind formulate the possibility that she might feel—</p><p>That she might—</p><p>And still, Emily is treating her like Lindsey is someone who deserves to have all of her good parts. It makes her feel nauseous.</p><p>“I’ve just been awful,” she mumbles. “I haven’t been a good friend at all.”</p><p>Emily eyes her. For some reason, her cheeks color a little bit when she says, “Well, I haven’t either…”</p><p>Lindsey wipes the sleeve of her sweatshirt across her eyes, makes a scoffing sort of sound, annoyed at her own emotions. “I want to see your place in Florida,” she says, then. “For the record. Sorry I’m being so weird about it.”</p><p>Emily laughs a little bit. “No more so than usual,” she says, “In fact, this is a low standard in comparison to your normal level of weird.”</p><p>It’s dumb enough that it makes Lindsey laugh, too, and Emily grins like she knows.</p><p>“Shut up.” Lindsey takes a breath. “Should we watch another episode?”</p><p>She’s suddenly desperate to get rid of her weird breakdown as soon as possible, to leave the tension behind now that they’ve finally seemed to settle back into their real dynamic.</p><p>Emily nods. “You good, though?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Lindsey breathes out. “All good.”</p><p>:::</p><p>It’s not until she’s significantly more drunk that she actually realizes what has happened; that Emily has <em>actually</em> come back from Salt Lake City for this; to be on Lindsey’s couch in sweatpants, with wine and take out. Just to do a thing that they’ve done hundreds of times.</p><p>It makes her feel warm all over.</p><p>“Hey,” she says, nudging Emily’s foot with her own. “I’m glad you came back.”</p><p>Emily grins. “Better keep good on that promise of helping me pack the rest of my stuff.”</p><p>Lindsey kicks at Emily’s ankle, just to ignore her own blush. “I’m not helping you put your twenty million baseball caps into boxes if that’s what you think.”</p><p>“You love my baseball caps,” Emily says, making a point of touching the tip of the dark blue one that is currently positioned on her head.</p><p>Lindsey flicks it off.</p><p>Emily laughs and kicks her back, and halfway between Lindsey nearly knocking her wine glass of the table and Emily grabbing both of Lindsey’s wrists to try and get her to keep still, Lindsey looks at Emily’s mouth, feels her stomach flip, and thinks, <em>oh god I actually like you</em>.</p><p>It’s real and it’s there, and it had been at the edge of her consciousness for weeks, already, for months—</p><p>But the thought hits her like the most honest thing she’s ever admitted to herself, and suddenly, she can’t let it go.</p><p>:::</p><p>They’ve got to do photoshoots for the new kits.</p><p>Lindsey is trying to be normal about it.</p><p>It’s not like they haven’t done this stuff before. They’re in dressing rooms together pretty much every single day of their life. She’s seen enough of Emily’s body over the past few years to know what to expect. For fuck’s sake—they’ve drunk champagne in their sports bras and she’s not fifteen years old anymore. She should be able to play it cool.</p><p>But somehow, it <em>feels </em>like she’s fifteen years old.</p><p>There are nerves in her stomach and an annoying half sort of flush that keeps rising to her cheeks, and she’s thinking about how she’s technically never considered herself bi—</p><p>But it’s not like she <em>hasn’t </em>either; it’s not like the thought is wildly new to her.</p><p>She knows that as a kid, she used to play a surprising amount of questionable games with her friends that somehow always ended up in a little too much physical contact—but she hadn’t realized she’d do this as much with the girls as with the boys. She hadn’t realized until later that not every girl on her high school soccer team would feel a weird sort of flip in their stomach when watching some of the players in the women’s league score goals. She’d been completely thrown off and surprised in a bar in Paris once, being kissed by a pretty girl with a double helix piercing and heavy eyeliner—and only later she’d realize she’d actually been dropping hints to the girl for wanting to be kissed all night.</p><p>Either way, she’s not exactly sure what the fuck is happening in her body as she watches Emily pose for her pictures to be taken, but it sure as hell makes her re-evaluate her entire sexual identity.  </p><p>It’s just that—</p><p>Emily is <em>so hot.</em></p><p>The fit of the white jersey makes Lindsey’s mouth go dry. Emily’s hair is pulled back in a soft ponytail, and she keeps flexing her arms and doing stupid thumbs ups, and Lindsey is <em>so </em>annoyingly into it.</p><p>She tries to fight it, but her mind keeps drifting to the kiss; to being pushed up against the wall, to the feeling of Emily’s thumb pressed into the hollow of her hipbone, how it makes Lindsey’s breath hitch just to <em>think </em>about it.</p><p>And all the while, Emily’s just posing and making faces, going from smiley to serious like it’s a game, and Lindsey should really, she should really—</p><p>“Enjoying the view?”</p><p>She’s startled by Kelley’s voice. “What?”</p><p>Kelley just shakes her head. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”</p><p>Lindsey frowns. “Shouldn’t you?”</p><p>Kelley meets her eyes, and for a second the tension is almost tangible. She hasn’t really talked to Kelley much lately, but she’s not exactly new to this side. She’s seen it months back, years back even; has seen it happen with Alex before it ever happened with Emily—although she knows that Kelley will rather die than ever admit that out loud, and Lindsey had been young enough to feel like it wasn’t any of her business at all.</p><p>“Apparently you and I are roommates for training camp,” Kelley replies, like it’s an answer.</p><p>Lindsey nods. “Okay, cool.”</p><p>:::</p><p>It’s not cool.</p><p>She lasts about an hour watching Kelley passive-aggressively typing away on her phone on the opposite bed, the first night of camp, and then Lindsey snaps, “Okay, just tell me, then.”</p><p>Kelley looks up from her phone, unimpressed. “Tell you what?”</p><p>“I don’t fucking know.” Lindsey huffs impatiently. “Whatever it is you’re holding back on, just say it! Tell me that I can’t stop messing with her like this, and that I’m a bitch for everything that happened in August, and that you’re going to try to break both my ankles during this training camp—”</p><p>Kelley’s eyebrows shoot up, and then she grins, and it’s not mean, it’s just Kelley’s normal smile.</p><p>Lindsey startles a bit because of it.</p><p>“Break your ankles?” Kelley says. She drops her phone on the pillow, eyebrow raised. “Do you feel like I should try and break both of your ankles?”</p><p>Lindsey shrugs, rough and annoyed. “I don’t know. You look like you want to.”</p><p>“You’re being an idiot.”</p><p>“Okay, fine, maybe not <em>break </em>my ankles, with the tournament right around the corner—”</p><p>“No,” Kelley says, cutting her off. “You’re being an idiot because Sonnett really likes you.”</p><p>That shuts Lindsey up.</p><p>Kelley rolls her eyes. “I don’t really care about what happened in August. Or didn’t happen, or whatever. I mean—” She shrugs a bit. “I <em>care</em>, of course. But it’s, like, I don’t know—you had stuff to figure out, and you messed it up a bit. It happens. I know what that’s like.” She looks at Lindsey. “I’m not annoyed about whatever happened with your break-up, or how you seem to have a thing for dealing with it by <em>not </em>talking. I don’t care, Linds. I’m annoyed because you’ve got a wide open goal here and you’re refusing to take the shot.”</p><p>Lindsey’s throat feels impossibly dry. She wants to be annoyed at the soccer reference, but she is blushing too much, can barely get the words out of her mouth when she finally manages to mumble, “She—she really likes me?”</p><p>Kelley groans. “This is what I mean. You’re such an idiot.”</p><p>Lindsey bites down on her bottom lip. She feels equal parts embarrassed and flustered. It’s not like she didn’t realize it all. But to have Kelley looking at her, to hear her say out loud that Emily really—</p><p>“Come on.” Kelley taps the empty space on the covers next to her. “You look like you’re shaking. Get over here.”</p><p>Lindsey exhales hard, feeling even more embarrassed, but she drops down onto Kelley’s bed, anyway.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Kelley says, and there’s a soft and worried sort of edge to her voice that wasn’t there before. “What are you so afraid of?”</p><p>Lindsey fumbles with the sheet. “I—” She can’t really look Kelley in the eyes, not now they’re this close. She feels like Kelley can see right through her, no matter what she says. “She’s my… She’s my best friend.”</p><p>Kelley smirks, just a little bit. “She’s <em>my </em>best friend, first of all,” she says. “So fuck off, Horan.”</p><p>It’s enough to make Lindsey laugh, to ease some of the tension.</p><p>Then, Kelley’s hand brushes against the clench of Lindsey’s fist in the sheets. “You’re not just friends, Linds,” she says, “It’s okay to admit it.”</p><p>For half a moment, the first thing Lindsey wants to say is: <em>you and Sonny aren’t either</em>.</p><p>But it’s—</p><p>She knows it’s not about that, knows that Kelley won’t ever have that conversation, and least of all with her. She knows Kelley’s girlfriend is amazing, has heard Kelley gush about her for months in the lead-up to the World Cup, knows that Kelley’s not risking anything to give up what she has.</p><p>She wants to say that she knows what it’s like to feel things that are between friendship and something else for certain people, that she’s aware of the fact that there are lines between her and Kelley and Emily that are more complicated than anyone really knows.</p><p>But it’s not fair to take the conversation there, so all Lindsey says is, “I don’t know how.”</p><p>Kelley smiles at her. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to make a move on someone.”</p><p>Lindsey makes a half-exasperated sound.</p><p>Kelley squeezes her hand harder. “Look,” she says. “She’s not going to be the one to do it, okay? Not anytime soon. You’ve kind of scared her off a bit. Besides, she’s got other things to worry about right now.”</p><p>“But that’s the thing,” Lindsey says. “I don’t want to mess anything up. Not when I’m not even sure she wants me to make a—”</p><p>“I can’t believe I’m going to need to say this again,” Kelley says. “But open your goddamn eyes. Why’d you think she got on a plane and went back to Portland when nearly all of her stuff is already here in Florida?”</p><p>Lindsey blushes. “We actually <em>did </em>pack some things—”</p><p>“Not the point.” Kelley shoves her arm.</p><p>Lindsey lets the words sink in for a moment. It takes a second, but then the tension she’d been feeling melts into something warmer. She runs a hand through her hair, feeling the corners of her mouth twitch a little bit. “She really likes me? Like, really?”</p><p>Kelley rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. “You two deserve each other, honestly.”</p><p>:::</p><p>Later, when they’re brushing teeth, Kelley says, “I’m serious, Horan. Better do something about that crush of yours. Or I <em>will </em>break your ankles.”</p><p>Lindsey gives Kelley’s own ankle a good-hearted kick. She glances at herself in the mirror—toothpaste around her mouth, blush high on her cheeks. She can’t stop grinning.</p><p>:::</p><p>Camp is <em>good</em>.</p><p>She works her ass of in the gym and on the field, and she can feel the energy from everyone around her. SheBelieves is a fun tournament, one of Lindsey’s favorites, really. They’ll play their first game against England in four days, and she knows they’ll be tested, she knows they’ll have to show what they’re made off. It pumps a sort of competitive energy into Lindsey’s veins that she can’t help but relish in.</p><p>Tomorrow is an off day.</p><p>It’s already past ten and Kelley is still out somewhere having dinner with Crystal, and Lindsey’s got the room to herself for a little bit.</p><p>She’s not doing much, just playing around on her phone.</p><p>When there’s a soft knock on the door, it’s so quiet that, for a second, Lindsey’s sure she imagined it. But when she pulls the door open, Emily is there.</p><p>She’s looking soft and cute—dressed in a pair of white shorts and a grey sweatshirt with sleeves that are a little bit too long.</p><p>“Hey,” Lindsey says, smiling her surprise away as quickly as she can.</p><p>Emily gives her a small smile back. “Can I come in?”</p><p>She fumbles a little with the edge of her shorts, and Lindsey gets the vague impression that she’s nervous. But she doesn’t get too long to think about it, already stepping aside to let Emily into the room.</p><p>They haven’t really been alone since the beginning of camp. They’ve talked, of course, and Lindsey has had the distinct feeling that, for days, Emily’s somehow figured out that she’s able to get Lindsey to blush just by sitting down next to her at the breakfast table or high fiving her after a scrimmage, because she appears to be doing that sort of thing a lot. But they haven’t been alone, not like this.</p><p>It makes her hands sweat.</p><p>“You weren’t about to go to bed, right?” Emily is saying. “I can leave if you—”</p><p>“No, no.” Lindsey waves it off. “I’m good. You’re good.”</p><p>She cringes a tiny bit at herself, but then drops down back on her bed, hoping it’s casual enough that Emily will sit down next to her. It takes a moment. Emily hovers, still fumbling with her shorts like she’s unsure, but then she sits down.</p><p>“Uh,” Lindsey says, after a second. “Do you want to watch a movie or something? Or just hang out? Or, uh—” She’s trying to be cool, but clearly failing at it.</p><p>Despite her nerves, Emily gives her a teasing sort of grin. “Or what?”</p><p>Lindsey’s heart speeds up. “Pff, yeah, uh…” She exhales hard. “I don’t know, look at puppy videos on Instagram?”</p><p>Emily’s smile turns cute. But then, she says, “Linds, I’ve got my first day tomorrow.”</p><p>And <em>oh</em>—</p><p>Lindsey had known it was coming.</p><p>They’re in Orlando, after all; it only makes sense. But she hadn’t realized it was tomorrow, already. She swallows thickly. “You okay?”</p><p>Emily nods. “Yeah, I’m—it’s fine, actually. Been talking to Ash about a bit. She told me it will all be okay. It’s just, like, a press day, or whatever. They’ll give me my jersey, too.”</p><p>Lindsey stares at her. She wants to say, <em>I’ll miss you in red</em>. But what comes out is, “You’ll look good in purple.”</p><p>Emily’s cheeks go the slightest bit pink. She runs a hand up the side of her neck, meets Lindsey’s eyes when she says, “I’ll miss wearing red with you.”</p><p>Lindsey’s breath hitches in the back of the throat.</p><p>The fact that Emily knows her so well, knows exactly what she—</p><p>“Sonny,” she says. “They’re so goddamn lucky to have you.”</p><p>It’s a little bit sad and it’s a lot honest, and Lindsey can feel her throat close off, but she has to say this, she has to push through.</p><p>She shifts forward a tiny bit closer on the bed. “You’re going to do great,” she whispers. “It’ll be weird tomorrow. Of course you’re nervous about it.” She wants to reach out and take hold of Emily’s hand, lace their fingers together, but she doesn’t know if it’s too much or not. “But you’ve got it, Em. You’re going to shake that whole team up.” There’s a proud sort of heat spreading through Lindsey’s chest. “Really, you’re going to blow them away.”</p><p>Emily is smiling at her, blushing a little bit, too. “You think so?”</p><p>“Absolutely.” Lindsey nudges Emily’s knee, adding, “I’ll be there, if you want me to. Tomorrow. I’ll come with.”</p><p>Something crosses Emily’s expression, and she doesn’t look away from Lindsey’s eyes once. It makes Lindsey feel like she’s jumping off the high diving board. Emily’s eyes are <em>so </em>blue, her face close enough that Lindsey could count her freckles.</p><p>“Linds…” Emily says, voice a little bit hoarse. “I mean, I kind of have to do it alone, I think. But that’s…”</p><p>Emily licks at her bottom lip, and Lindsey is tracking the movement with her eyes before she can stop herself.</p><p>When she looks back up at Emily’s eyes, it suddenly seems like Emily’s breathing is just a tiny bit quicker. And the fact that Lindsey can feel that—</p><p>That she’s sitting close enough to—</p><p>Really, it wouldn’t take much—</p><p>There’s the sound of a key card sliding into the lock on the door, followed by a loud, “I’m back! We went to this taco place that Alex recommended and—<em>oh</em>.”</p><p>Emily startles about five feet away from Lindsey. Kelley’s face goes from surprised to teasing in the space of three seconds.</p><p>“Oh, sorry,” she says, grinning. “Didn’t meant to interrupt.”</p><p>“Taco place?” Emily rushes out, blushing hard. “What taco place? Why didn’t you invite me? I love tacos. I’m going to live here. You should have taken me to the good taco place that Alex recommended.”</p><p>Kelley smirks. “You were clearly a little bit busy, Sonny.”</p><p>Lindsey makes a strangled sort of sound. She can feel that her own face is burning hot, too. Kelley is looking between the two of them like this is the most amusing thing that happened all night.</p><p>Emily starts rambling that it’s Kelley’s responsibility to show her the good parts of the city, and Kelley’s half arguing back that Emily should just go out and see it for herself.</p><p>And Lindsey—</p><p>All she feels is the ghost press of Emily’s mouth against her own, almost within reach.</p><p>:::</p><p>Kelley teases her relentlessly. To the point where Lindsey actually has to shut off all the lights in the room at once and hide away deep under her covers to ignore Kelley for long enough that she finally goes quiet and lets Lindsey try and fall asleep.</p><p>She can’t stop thinking about it.</p><p>She’d been so close. She’d almost kissed her. For real this time. Not because they’d been drunk and not because she’d been heartbroken. Just because Sonny had been looking so warm and soft in that oversized sweatshirt, and Lindsey’s whole body had wanted to.</p><p>She takes a shaky breath. In the back of her mind she can hear Kelley’s echo.</p><p>
  <em>Make a move.</em>
</p><p>Her fingers are trembling a little bit when she reaches for her phone on the nightstand. She types the message holding her breath, barely daring herself to look at it.</p><p>
  <em>Wanted to kiss you. </em>
</p><p>And then, because her heart is racing already, anyway, and she’s not about to back down now, she adds: <em>Would have done it if Kelley hadn’t come in.</em></p><p>It takes a really long time before she gets a response. So long that Lindsey has already stopped staring at her phone, has already put it under the pillow in an attempt to distract herself enough to fall asleep. She’s in the middle of thinking up a scenario where Emily will only see the message tomorrow morning, wondering whether they’ll be at breakfast together and—</p><p>Her phone buzzes.</p><p>The message lights up in the dark of the hotel room.</p><p>
  <em>kiss me next time.</em>
</p><p>It sets Lindsey’s whole body on fire.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N:</p><p>Is this a slow burn now? We'll see ;)</p><p>Let me know what you think in the comments! </p><p>(Also, I know some of you are screaming about this but I CANNOT stay away from making this a tiny little bit o'Soran, okay?! I'm only human.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. something like the summer (kinda like a hurricane)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N:</p>
<p>Hi friends, I've been a little bit all over the place emotionally lately (as we all are, probably), so I hope this doesn't suck! Let me know what you think :) </p>
<p>Chapter title from Bryce Vine's "Drew Barrymore"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She can barely get through the day without thinking about it.</p>
<p>Emily knows there are other things to focus on, that her mind shouldn’t be drifting like this. She’s got interviews to do and social media stories to post. There are photographers wanting to capture her very first moments on the field wearing the purple jersey. She’s got to formulate her thoughts about what it means to play for a different club, has got to talk through difficult questions about calling a different field the home turf now. She’s got to do it without letting anyone know that she’s got a lump in her throat.</p>
<p>Or that she’s—</p>
<p>That she’s really distracted.</p>
<p>All day, her fingers are itching to pull her phone out of her pocket, to check her text messages, to see if Lindsey has said anything else.</p>
<p>It runs through her body like a hot current of tension.</p>
<p>
  <em>Wanted to kiss you.</em>
</p>
<p>The words keep echoing in her mind, keep rolling through her body. She’s hoping that everyone will think the blush on her cheeks is from the novelty of this experience, from being in a new stadium, from the nerves of presenting herself for a different club—and not anything else.</p>
<p>She’s hoping no one can tell that all she can think about is the way Lindsey’s eyes had dropped to her mouth last night, the twist of heat it had caused low in Emily’s stomach, how close she’d been to just damning it all to hell, lean in and kiss Lindsey, right there on the bed of the hotel room.</p>
<p>Never mind Russell. Never mind Kelley.</p>
<p>How Lindsey, apparently, had been wanting the same thing.</p>
<p>Her mind flashes to the text again, flashes to the words, then begins to build the images—</p>
<p>
  <em>Lindsey’s lips soft under hers, gasping as Emily presses her down into the mattress, all heat and wandering hands, a breathed out, “Fuck, Em…” </em>
</p>
<p>“… would you say that’s correct?”</p>
<p>Emily blinks. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”</p>
<p>The reporter gives her half a smile and repeats the question. Emily has to force herself to pay attention.</p>
<p>It continues like that for the entire day.</p>
<p>By the time, she’s finally in an cab on her way back to the hotel, her heart is racing. She takes her phone out, turning it on again. She hadn’t wanted to be distracted during her interviews, but now that her press day is finally over, she can’t wait to check her messages. Her phone connects and just like that the stream of messages—group chats and social media notifications—comes rolling in.</p>
<p>She swipes all of it out of the way. Her thumb connects with Lindsey’s name and there it is.</p>
<p>The first message is sent just after she left the hotel to go to the stadium. It reads, <em>Good luck</em>.</p>
<p>It’s nothing all that special; Kelley has sent her a paragraph of a motivational pep talk with a bunch of emojis and gifs and soccer references. But then, Emily’s eyes flick over the rest of the messages, each and every one making her smile more, making her blush more.</p>
<p>
  <em>Just went for coffee with Rose at this super hipster breakfast place and this girl next to us ordered AVO TOAST AND SONNY IT LOOKED AMAZING. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You’ll have to take me once when I come hang out with you here ;)</em>
</p>
<p>Emily’s heartbeat stutters a little bit.</p>
<p>She’s biting her lip when she reads, <em>I keep checking the Pride’s instagram to see if they’re bragging about you yet</em></p>
<p>There’s a purple heart at the end of the message and Emily feels the effect of it spreading slowly through her chest; nerves and excitement and a flushed sort of heat.</p>
<p>And then finally, only about an hour or so, there’s a string of short messages that nearly make Emily lose her breath, the further she gets.</p>
<p>
  <em>Come back</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I miss you</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Want you back in my room</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Steal some of Kelley’s stupid non-fat Vegan ice cream or whatever and watch Netflix </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe do that thing we talked about yesterday</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>If you’ll let me</em>
</p>
<p>She feels her heart racing as she reads over them, again and again. And then she types out: <em>on my way</em>. And then, because she flinches a little at how unemotive her own words read after everything that Lindsey’s typed, she adds: <em>can’t wait to see you.</em></p>
<p>It’s not a lot, but she’s blushing like crazy, and she knows that Lindsey will read it exactly for what it is.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Of course, when she knocks on Lindsey’s hotel room, Rose opens the door.</p>
<p>She could have expected it.</p>
<p>Emily’s eyes go wide, and for a second there’s a flinch of disappointment in her stomach. But then, Rose says, “Finally,” and there’s a whole bunch of voices coming at her from inside—Sam’s and Kelley’s and Mal’s, and <em>Lindsey’s</em>, of course. And then Rose is pulling her inside, and Emily feels weirdly overwhelmed with how much she suddenly loves her friends.  </p>
<p>They’ve been waiting for her to get back.</p>
<p>It’s the first time she’s felt completely happy all day.</p>
<p>Rose pulls her further into the room, starts rattling off one question after another. Mal makes an excited sort of squeal and grabs Emily’s arm to pull her onto Kelley’s bed. Sam is telling Mal to shush it, smiling at Emily in that supportive and genuine way that makes Sam truly one of the very best people Emily knows. Kelley is patting her on the back, shaking her a little roughly, proud and happy, and Lindsey—</p>
<p>Lindsey’s on her own bed, leaning back into the pillows, eyes on Emily, looking a tiny bit flustered and a tiny bit shy. She’s not saying anything, but Emily feels Lindsey’s attention on her to the core of her bones, the heat of her smile. She flushes. She falters halfway through telling Rose about what kind of questions the reporters asked, and maybe she catches Kelley smirk from the corner of her eyes, but she ignores it.</p>
<p>She’s still looking at Lindsey, biting on her bottom lip. Part of her is wishes it was just the two of them right now, but part of her is also glad she doesn’t have to deal with all the nerves of that—not just yet, anyway.</p>
<p>Lindsey’s smile curls wider, and Emily barely hears it when Kelley says, “C’mon, show us the jersey, then.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p>She’s still wearing it.</p>
<p>It’s under her white hoodie, and she shifts a little on the bed, for some reason suddenly self-conscious.</p>
<p>“You sure?” she says, unnecessary, because Mal is already tugging on her sleeve and Emily really has not choice but to grab the back of her hoodie and pull it up and over her head.</p>
<p>Kelley whoops.</p>
<p>Rose grins and says, “It’s actually not bad”</p>
<p>Emily shoves her, then gets up off the bed and flexes her biceps, angling one way and then the other, trying to laugh off how weird this is. She spins, makes a bow, spurred on by Sam’s laugh and Rose’s faux-embarrassed face palm, and then—</p>
<p>She glances over at Lindsey almost accidentally, but the second she meets Lindsey’s eyes, she can’t look away.</p>
<p>There’s a weird sort emotion on Lindsey’s face, a half proud, half sad sort of smile, paired with something just a little bit deeper—something Emily isn’t exactly sure she has full access to yet. It makes her skin feel hot all the same.</p>
<p>She bites down on her bottom lip, forgetting she’s in a room with all of their friends as she says,  “How does it look?”</p>
<p>Lindsey’s smile becomes stronger. She shifts forward, then gets off the bed, too. Emily’s breath catches in her throat the second Lindsey’s in front of her, so close suddenly. Lindsey pulls on the jersey, unfolds Emily’s left sleeve which has accidentally rolled up under the cuff.</p>
<p>“I think I could get used to this,” she says softly, and then, a little bit more mumbled, just for Emily to hear, “Eventually.”</p>
<p>Emily nods. She has to resist the urge to wrap her arms around Lindsey and pull her in, but she can tell that Lindsey feels it, anyway—the fact that they both know it’s going to take a long, long time for them to get used to not wearing the same club colors anymore. But they’ll get there, and it’s okay. It will be okay.</p>
<p>And then, because they’re <em>not </em>alone and Lindsey has seemed to realize it just as abruptly, Lindsey adds, “At least you can embarrass the Pride now with your bad dance moves instead of us.”</p>
<p>“Hey!” Emily grins. “I’m the best dancer you know.”</p>
<p>Lindsey shakes her head, laughs, and just like that, everything feels so normal that Emily almost forgets what she’s wearing.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Kelley kicks them out eventually.</p>
<p>They’ve got a tournament in two days, and at some point, even Kelley’s done with Rose and Emily’s never-ending battle of trying to decide who’s funnier. For some reason, Lindsey lingers in the doorway as Sam and Rose begin to make their way out of the room. It’s enough to make Emily stall.</p>
<p>“Hey, Kell—” she says, slow in getting up off the bed.</p>
<p>Kelley gives her a look, and before Emily can say ask whatever nonsense question she was going to come up with, Kelley mouths, “<em>Are you finally going to do something about that</em>?”</p>
<p>Emily freezes.</p>
<p>“About what?” she whispers back after a second, but she’s blushing enough that it makes Kelley roll her eyes.</p>
<p>She smirks, then says, “You owe me, Son. I’ve had to put up with all of her desperate pining all day, and now—”</p>
<p>“What are you guys talking about?” Lindsey steps back into the room, looking between Emily and Kelley with the slightest frown on her face.</p>
<p>Emily panics. “Nothing. Nothing, I’m just—I’m gonna—”</p>
<p>She gestures at the door, then grabs her hoodie, pulling it quickly over her head, avoiding Lindsey’s eyes. She skips forward towards the door, pulling it open once again, and then Lindsey’s hand is on her arm.</p>
<p>“Were just going to leave?”</p>
<p>It doesn’t sound accusing. There’s an amused tilt to Lindsey’s voice, but still, Emily cringes just a little bit. She shuffles out into the hallway, stepping back so that Lindsey can lean against the door, and they’re more or less out of Kelley’s line of sight.</p>
<p>“No?” she says, but it sounds like a question and Lindsey grins.</p>
<p>Emily feels her own smile spreading on her face, and Lindsey blushes when she notices, then glances down. It’s a little bit shy, and Emily’s breathing speeds up at the sight of it because Lindsey doesn’t really get shy—she’s always pretty forward, even when it’s forced.</p>
<p>And now she’s staring down at her sneakers and biting on her bottom lip, and Emily just—</p>
<p>She touches her fingers to Lindsey’s forearm. It’s really not that much, it’s barely even any physical contact, but the second Lindsey meets her eyes, Emily feels the charge of it all the way to her stomach.</p>
<p>“Should I not leave?” she murmurs.</p>
<p>Lindsey rolls her eyes.</p>
<p>It’s the cutest fucking thing—the way she’s trying to shrug it off already, like it’s nothing. Even though there’s absolutely no other reason for Emily to linger in this hallway, and they both know it.</p>
<p>“Kelley was so annoying all day,” Lindsey mumbles, and for a second Emily thinks it’s a change of topic, but then she adds, “If I’d just let you go now, she’d annoy me about it all night.” </p>
<p>Emily can feel the heat of her blush rising from her chest to her neck. Her fingers are still on the bare skin of Lindsey’s elbow, and her throat is dry when she says, “So you want to…”</p>
<p>It’s only barely a suggestion.</p>
<p>She’s pretty sure she would burn right out of her body if she’d even let her mind entertain the thought of Lindsey leaning down and—</p>
<p>Lindsey’s eyes flick to her mouth, and Emily breathes out, “Fuck. Okay.”</p>
<p>It sounds hoarse.</p>
<p>They’re barely even touching, and Emily curses herself internally because her voice already sounds hoarse and breathless and <em>needy</em>—</p>
<p>Lindsey’s smile turns cocky.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” she says. Her hand reaches forward and she twirls her finger around the draw string of Emily’s hoodie. She’s not even tugging on it and yet, it’s enough to make Emily step forward just a bit.</p>
<p>Her skin feels warm all over, and she hears herself say, “You don’t have to. I’m not, like—I mean, I don’t <em>expect </em>you to—”</p>
<p>Lindsey lets go of the draw string, slides her fingers up the side of Emily’s neck, fingers over her pulse, smirking as Emily’s voice trembles.</p>
<p>“—I mean, we’ve got the tournament, and we should probably get some sleep, and either way, that text doesn’t have to mean I expect you to—”</p>
<p>Lindsey’s thumb brushes against her jaw. Poor hallway lighting and no make-up whatsoever, and Emily’s never been this attracted to someone in her <em>whole life</em>.</p>
<p>“What else?” Lindsey mumbles, and she’s full on teasing now.</p>
<p>Emily can’t stop talking. “There are rules,” she breathes out. “No girlfriends at camp.”</p>
<p>It’s a joke. It’s the last of her resistance. It’s the final chance for Lindsey to change her mind, before Emily loses her last ounce of self-control, and—   </p>
<p>“You’re not my girlfriend,” Lindsey says, and then she closes the gap between them.</p>
<p>The kiss is soft. Lindsey, for all her teasing, is still the tiniest bit unsure, the tiniest bit hesitant, and Emily’s whole body shivers into it. She lets Lindsey be soft for a second, melting into the heat of their mouths pressed together.</p>
<p>And then she can’t stop herself.</p>
<p>It’s the easiest thing in the world to fist her hands in Lindsey’s t-shirt, to pull her in, to kiss her harder.</p>
<p>Lindsey gasps, breath against Emily’s lips.   </p>
<p>And then—</p>
<p>God. They’ve never really kissed like this.</p>
<p>Lindsey arches forward, accidentally letting the door fall closed behind her, but Emily’s already pressing forward, backing Lindsey against it, kissing her deeper, kissing her harder—closing all the space between them, and feeling like she’s getting all she’s ever wanted<em> at once</em>.</p>
<p>The way Lindsey’s fingers slide up the side of her neck. The hungry way she kisses—all pull and pull and pull—enough to make desire burn hot and low through her body. Lindsey bites down on Emily’s bottom lip softly, and it sends such a wave of <em>want</em> through her body that she has to break away, suddenly overwhelmed.</p>
<p>Her breathing is uneven as she whispers, “God. <em>Linds</em>.”</p>
<p>“Been wanting to do that—” Lindsey breathes out, voice rough. “Been wanting to do that <em>for hours</em>.”</p>
<p>Emily licks at her bottom lip. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>Lindsey nods, and Emily can’t help herself. She nudges her nose against Lindsey’s, pressing their lips together for one second longer, before she realizes just how fucking <em>affectionate </em>that is.</p>
<p>She backs off shyly.</p>
<p>It almost feels like she accidentally admitted something without any words, but there’s a soft blush on Lindsey’s cheeks and it’s something that Emily wants to cause again and again, so maybe it’s all good.</p>
<p>The reality of being in a very public hotel hallway—one where any member of their team or staff can walk in on them any second—seems to catch up with both of them at the same time.</p>
<p>“Right,” Emily mumbles. “Well, I guess I should probably…”</p>
<p>She gestures vaguely, and Lindsey is biting on her bottom lip. She’s looking like it’s taking a lot of self-restraint to not yank Emily forward by her hoodie once again. It keeps pulling Emily back and forth between feeling confident and shy.</p>
<p>“Can’t believe SheBelieves starts in two days,” Lindsey says then, and Emily can’t tell if it’s meant to start another conversation, one that can make her stand out in this hallway longer, of if somehow it’s related to—</p>
<p>“And that there’s no girlfriends at camp,” Lindsey adds, glancing down.</p>
<p><em>Oh</em>—</p>
<p>Yeah.</p>
<p>That’s…</p>
<p>“It’s only a week,” Emily mumbles, and then, because Lindsey said it before, she manages the teasing smile and adds, “And you’re not my girlfriend.”</p>
<p>Lindsey looks right back at her, smirks. “Not yet.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>Emily swallows thickly, tries to ignore the way her heart is hammering in her chest at the implication.</p>
<p>She runs a hand through her hair. “Right,” she says. </p>
<p>Lindsey pushes Emily a bit further into the hallway. “Go sleep. We have to—” She takes a shaky breath. “You can’t distract me this week, Sonnett.”</p>
<p>It sounds so strict. Emily nods, but can’t fight her smile. She shrugs. “I’ve gotten through the whole World Cup wanting to kiss you. I can handle another week.”</p>
<p>It’s only a second too late,  when she sees the surprised smile on Lindsey’s face, that she realizes what she just said.</p>
<p>“Okay, bye,” she says quickly. “Night, Linds.”</p>
<p>Lindsey is shaking her head, grinning wide. Then, she suddenly curses. “Fuck, my key card is inside.”</p>
<p>Emily laughs, is almost at the corner. “Have fun trying to explain that to Kelley.”</p>
<p>Lindsey flips her off, before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door with a deep blush.</p>
<p>As she holds her key card against the lock of her own room, Emily can just about make out Kelley’s voice saying, “<em>There you are. Did you use protection, Linds?</em>”</p>
<p>She’s still smiling and blushing when she falls into bed.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>The tournament is a whirlwind.</p>
<p>England plays rough as always. Emily watches the whole game from the bench; watches how the team puts increasing pressure on the Lionesses, watches the tension rise when Julie goes down for a moment, watches how Lindsey grits her teeth and gets so close to the goal that it almost looks like—</p>
<p>But the ball is cleared, and she doesn’t  score.</p>
<p>Emily clenches her fists.</p>
<p>Halftime is a mess of pep talks and water bottles passed around. Emily barely gets a chance to speak to Lindsey, but their eyes meet and Lindsey’s so fired up that it makes Emily feel hot all over.</p>
<p>She knows Lindsey is beautiful—like, fuck, she <em>knows</em>. But when she looks like this, half determined and frustrated because they haven’t been able to score yet, it’s one of the hottest things Emily has ever seen.</p>
<p>When Christen finally lands the ball in the back of the net in the 53<sup>rd</sup> minute, Emily’s on her feet and screaming her lungs out, jumping up and down. And then, only minutes later, Lindsey scoops the ball right over the defense to Carli’s feet, and it’s 2-0.</p>
<p>The one thing Emily wants to do after the game is pull Lindsey into some empty physiotherapy room and kiss her senseless—but she can’t. They agreed. Well, they didn’t really. The thought of their hallway conversation still makes Emily blush. But it was definitely implied; that it’s better to forget about whatever is happening between them until after the tournament.</p>
<p>So, all Emily does after the game, is pull Lindsey into a sweaty hug and hope no one notices how tightly she’s holding on.</p>
<p>“You were so great—” she’s saying into Lindsey’s neck. “Just so fucking great, Linds.”</p>
<p>Lindsey is beaming and already talking over her, already saying something about the next game, and how they’ve got to keep the momentum going or whatever, and out of nowhere, Emily thinks, <em>fuck, I love you. </em></p>
<p>It shakes her up, the force of the thought.</p>
<p>And clearly it must show on her face, because Lindsey is narrowing her eyes a little suspiciously, saying, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”</p>
<p>But before Emily can even try to come up with an excuse, Kelley’s jumping up and down next to them, and they get pulled into the collective celebrations of the team.</p>
<p>Emily feels hot and shaky on the thought all night.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Spain is a challenge.</p>
<p>This time, Emily gets to play and Lindsey starts on the bench.</p>
<p>It’s a physical match, with Spain trying everything to keep control over the ball. They come close to scoring a few times—Pinoe’s shot bouncing off Paños’s gloves, Rose’s strike going wide—but they’re still tied at 0 when they go into halftime.</p>
<p>Lindsey gets subbed in at the 70-minute mark, and Emily feels a little thrill going through her now that they’re on the field at the same time. But it’s still a hard-fought battle, all the way until the 87<sup>th</sup> minute when Julie’s header finally lands in the back of the net.</p>
<p>Now, they’ve only got to take on Japan.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>Lindsey goes down so hard that it feels like a punch to the stomach.</p>
<p>Emily’s off the bench and onto her feet in a second. Her heart is hammering in her chest and her palms are slick with sweat, and she feels <em>sick </em>to her stomach, watching how Lindsey stays down for seconds and seconds longer than she should—</p>
<p>Tobin’s next to her soon enough. Kelley sprints across the field, too, but Emily’s clenching her fists and trying to keep her breathing under control.</p>
<p>It takes way too long, <em>way </em>too fucking long, but finally, Lindsey’s up and on her feet again, rubbing her shoulder with a grimace, before waving it off, saying, <em>I’m fine, I’m fine.</em></p>
<p>Ashlyn pulls Emily back down. For a moment, they meet eyes and it’s like Ashlyn wants to say something, but eventually she seems to decide against it. Emily sinks back, tries to let go of the panic. Lindsey’s fine. She’s okay. They’re getting a penalty out of it, too.</p>
<p>But her heart does not stop racing for the entire match.</p>
<p><em>This is it</em>, she’s thinking. <em>If we make it through this, we’ve won</em>. <em>If we make it through this, maybe we can—</em></p>
<p>Press chips the ball into the net <em>beautifully</em>, giving them a 2-0 advantage, which means that Japan will need to score 4 goals to knock them out of first place. But as they make their way into the tunnel, Emily can’t even entertain the thought of victory yet. All she needs is—</p>
<p>“Linds.” She pushes past Tobin and Rose, pushes everyone out of the way until she’s right in front of Lindsey in the back of the locker room.</p>
<p>Kelley’s got a hand on Lindsey’s shoulder, urging her to sit down, and Emily all but slaps Kelley’s hand out of the way as she makes their way between them. “<em>Linds</em>. Are you—how’s your—”</p>
<p>She can barely get the words out, out of breath from running down the tunnel, but Lindsey’s entire expression softens. “Hey, Son.”</p>
<p>She drops to her knees, her hands on Lindsey’s thighs, doesn’t care if anyone sees. “Are you okay?” Her fingers itch to reach for Lindsey’s shoulder, but they keeping hovering in the air, afraid to touch her in case it hurts. “How’s it feel?”</p>
<p>Lindsey is sweaty and gorgeous. The tips of her fingers brush against Emily’s. “Sonny, I’m fine,” she says. “We’re good. We’re winning.” She hooks her pinky with Emily’s. “Everything’s fine, babe.”</p>
<p>Emily freezes. Lindsey’s eyes go wide. Her mouth parts and she looks like she’s going to say something else, but before she gets the chance to, Vlatko’s voice calls them all together.</p>
<p>Emily rushes to sit on the bench.</p>
<p>She forces herself to keep her eyes away from Lindsey—or <em>Kelley </em>for that matter, who is smirking at them like she’s witnessing something really amusing—and hoping that everyone will blame her very red cheeks on the fire of the game.</p>
<p>No matter the fact that she’s not even on the field.</p>
<p>As they listen to Vlatko, Lindsey’s pinky brushes against Emily’s again,  purposefully and distracting—and all Emily can think is <em>babe.</em></p>
<p>They’d better win the trophy fast.</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>And <em>of course</em> it’s Lindsey who gets the final goal, who puts them on the podium, who leads them right into celebration—</p>
<p>Emily couldn’t be more proud.</p>
<p>They’re swept up in press and medals and photographs, and after that, there’s locker room dancing and champagne, and it’s a long time before they’re back at the hotel—an even longer time before they might have a chance to separate from the rest of the group.</p>
<p>“Do you want to come to mine and Kelley’s room?” Lindsey says, as they make their way into the hotel, and something about her low voice curls like fire in Emily’s stomach.</p>
<p>She’s a little bit buzzed, thanks to the champagne; Lindsey’s eyes are so beautiful, her smile so irresistible, and all Emily really wants to do is pull her forward so they can kiss.</p>
<p>But—</p>
<p>“What about Kelley?”</p>
<p>Lindsey pouts a little bit. “I know, but…”</p>
<p>Emily can’t fight her smile. “But what?”</p>
<p>Lindsey’s eyes darken a little bit. She plays with the hem of Emily’s jersey. “Just want to be with you,” she says. </p>
<p>It makes Emily’s chest warm up from the inside out. And then she knows. “Come by my room in 15 minutes.”</p>
<p>:::</p>
<p>“This is your plan?” Lindsey says. “You’re making me play more soccer after I’ve already played a full ninety?”</p>
<p>“No,” Emily says. </p>
<p>Lindsey stares pointedly at the soccer ball at Emily’s feet, but Emily holds up the bottle of champagne she’d taken from the locker room in response, like it’s enough of an explanation.</p>
<p>Lindsey grins. “You’re crazy.”</p>
<p>“What?” Emily says. “It’s the one place no one’s going to look for us right now.”</p>
<p>They’re at one of the training fields behind the hotel. Save for the lights that are still on at the hotel, it’s very dark, and mostly impossible to see the goal properly, despite the fact that they’re standing only just outside the box.</p>
<p>Lindsey steps forward and Emily’s breath catches in her throat. For a second she thinks Lindsey’s just going to go for it—</p>
<p>That she’ll just lean in and—</p>
<p>Lindsey takes the bottle, angles it up to her mouth. She takes a swig, then says, looking right at Emily, “And what exactly are we going to do here?”</p>
<p>It makes Emily’s mouth go dry. She pulls the bottle from Lindsey’s hand, takes her own sip. And then she says, “Let’s play a game.”</p>
<p>Lindsey smirks. “Okay, I’m listening.”</p>
<p>Emily kicks the ball up, juggles it for a few moments, then places it on the ground again in front of her feet. “I’m going to try to hit the crossbar from here—” She gestures in the direction of the goal. “And after that, it’s your turn. Each round, we move further away from the goal.”</p>
<p>Lindsey arches one of her brows. “Do we play for points?”</p>
<p>“No,” Emily says, and she knows she’s blushing now, but it’s dark enough that maybe Lindsey won’t notice.</p>
<p>Lindsey’s eyes narrow. “So, what happens if we hit the crossbar?”</p>
<p>She tries to sound as confident as she can when she says, “The other person has to take a piece of clothing off.”</p>
<p>Lindsey stares at her.</p>
<p>She’s silent for a long moment, and then she says, “Strip soccer?”</p>
<p>Emily laughs—a sound that only vaguely sounds nervous. “What? Never played before, Linds?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t, actually,” Lindsey says, and there’s a smirk at the corner of her mouth now. “In case you forgot, I wasn’t on some fratty university soccer team. But you seem like you know what you’re talking about, Sonny.” </p>
<p>Emily shrugs, but she can’t ignore the flutter in her stomach. “If you mean that I can hit a crossbar even in the dark, then yes, I do know what I’m talking about.”</p>
<p>Lindsey nudges her arm. “So cocky.”</p>
<p>Emily takes another swig of the champagne, then pushes the bottle into Lindsey’s hands. “Watch me, baby.”</p>
<p>It’s so easy—the word falling from her lips, just like that. Her skin is warm all over as she lines up the ball. She purposefully ignores Lindsey’s eyes, squints to make out the crossbar, and then swings her leg back to take the shot.</p>
<p>The ball sails through the air, and seconds later, Emily is rewarded with the sound of it hitting the middle of the crossbar with full force.</p>
<p>“Damn,” Lindsey says, and Emily can’t stop grinning.</p>
<p>“Told you,” she says.</p>
<p>“Pure luck,” Lindsey says. “Go get it and I’ll show you how the pros do it.”</p>
<p>Emily runs to the left of the goal, to where the ball rolled off to. There’s a tight sort of energy in her body—something hot and thrilling and <em>tense</em>. When she makes her way back to, she kicks the ball against Lindsey’s ankle. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”</p>
<p>Lindsey doesn’t respond. She just keeps her eyes on Emily, fingers on the zip of her hoodie.</p>
<p>“Oh, this?” she says, playing with it. Emily’s eyes zone in on the movement. “Want me to take this off?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p>
<p>Her mind flashes hard and fast; images of Lindsey’s soft smooth skin, the strong muscles of her shoulders, her mouth on Lindsey’s neck, fluttering kisses down her collarbone—  </p>
<p>With a grin, Lindsey zips the hoodie open and throws it at Emily’s face. She’s wearing a white t-shirt under it. “What?” she says, grinning at the way Emily stumbles a little, only barely catching the hoodie. “Were you hoping I’d be naked under this?”</p>
<p>“<em>No—</em>” Emily says, nearly choking. “I mean, yes. <em>I mean—</em>not <em>yes, </em>obviously—not like that. I mean, unless you want to? I mean—”</p>
<p>Lindsey laughs. She kicks up the ball and juggles it to the line. “Don’t hurt yourself, Sonny.”</p>
<p>She hits it perfectly.</p>
<p><em>Of course </em>she hits it perfectly.</p>
<p>Emily doesn’t even have to watch the curve of the ball to know it’s a perfect shot. The way Lindsey looks back at her with a proud little smile causes a wave of heat through Emily’s body.</p>
<p>Lindsey’s eyebrow arches up expectantly.</p>
<p>Emily takes her shirt off.</p>
<p>Technically, it’s no big deal. Technically, they see each other in bras every single day. Technically, it shouldn’t be causing her heart to feel like it’s going to race right out of her chest.</p>
<p>But that was before they kissed.</p>
<p>Lindsey’s eyes drag over Emily’s body with something so close to hunger that Emily can barely even stand it. It’s really very dark; she’s not even sure Lindsey can see that much. But it doesn’t seem to matter; Lindsey’s drinking her in like it’s the only thing she wants to do right now. The night air is the slightest bit chilly, but Emily’s pretty sure not even the coldest ice bath could chill how hot she’s feeling.</p>
<p>She makes a throaty sort of noise and then manages to say, “Your turn to get the ball.”  </p>
<p>Lindsey’s inhale is slow, her whole reaction to the words slow—like her mind is somewhere else entirely, and Emily can’t help but feel a little thrill of excitement at the realization that apparently all she had to do to get Lindsey speechless, was take her shirt off.</p>
<p>When Lindsey passes her the ball, she barely registers that they’re still playing.</p>
<p>But now, more than anything, she wants to even the score.</p>
<p>She gets herself into position, about fifteen yards further from the goal than before. She swings her leg back and forth a few times, just to try and set the angle perfectly, taking the shot, just as Lindsey says, “Fuck, Em, your <em>abs</em>…”</p>
<p>She misses the crossbar. The ball lands in the corner of the goal and Emily’s cheeks feel hot.</p>
<p>“Not fair,” she says. “That threw me off.”</p>
<p>“What?” Lindsey counters. “Me, noticing how hot you are?”  </p>
<p>
  <em>God.</em>
</p>
<p>Lindsey is biting down on her bottom lip, and Emily wants to stop the game right away; wants to close the space between them and wrap her arms around Lindsey’s neck, wants to feel Lindsey’s hands on her bare skin, wants to—</p>
<p>“My turn,” Lindsey says, and—suddenly eager—she runs after the ball, placing it back on the same distance to the goal as where Emily’s standing.</p>
<p>She glances at Emily for one second longer, and then strikes.</p>
<p>It’s another perfect shot against the crossbar.</p>
<p>Emily’s heart rate is completely out of control now. Lindsey just stares at her, the moment charged with energy. She’s really only got two options; her shorts or her bra. Either make her feel like she’s going to burn out of her skin.</p>
<p>In a last attempt to stall, she goes to get the ball first.</p>
<p>It’s near the left goal post, and when she turns, Lindsey is right in front of her.</p>
<p>“Oh—” Emily says. “Oh, I didn’t realize—”</p>
<p>Lindsey kisses her.</p>
<p>Her hand at the back of Emily’s neck, pulling her in, fingers on her hip at the same time, and Emily really only needs one second before she’s kissing back. It’s feverish; all lips and teeth and tongue, and she hasn’t taken any other clothes off, but Lindsey is pressing her back against the goal post like she <em>has</em>. Like she can’t decide what to touch first; shaky fingers on Emily’s ribs, nails digging slightly into her back.</p>
<p>“Fuck…” Emily gasps against Lindsey’s mouth. “God, Linds, you’re—”</p>
<p>Lindsey shuts her up by kissing her again, and Emily groans—a needy and embarrassing sound, but one that makes Lindsey’s hips buck forward.</p>
<p>And <em>that—</em></p>
<p>Well, fuck.</p>
<p>Emily’s thumb drifts to the edge of Lindsey’s hip bone, to the bare skin just above the waistband of her shorts, and Lindsey’s stomach flexes, her whole body shifting forward like she can’t help it.</p>
<p>Lindsey makes a moaning sort of sound that she immediately tries to stifle by kissing her way down Emily’s neck, by pretending she’s in control—</p>
<p>Emily presses her thumb harder against the inside of Lindsey’s hip and Lindsey makes the sound <em>again, </em>gasps “fuck” into the bare skin of Emily’s shoulder and shivers into Emily’s touch.</p>
<p>It’s enough to make Emily feel like all her wildest college soccer dreams are coming true.</p>
<p>She slides her hand into Lindsey’s hair, pulls just the slightest, just to get Linsey to look at her for a second.</p>
<p>Lindsey’s eyes are wild and bright, and Emily feels like she’s falling.</p>
<p>“Em—” Lindsey says, hoarse and affected and <em>soft</em>.</p>
<p>She closes the gap and presses her mouth to Lindsey’s once again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N:</p>
<p>The slow burn is heating up a little bit ;) Tell me what you think in the comments or on tumblr: e-lec-tric-in-di-go</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N:</p>
<p>What are we thinking? How are we feeling?</p>
<p>On a different note: it’s a hectic time right now. Stay safe, be kind to yourself and act responsibly. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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